


Pygmalion Avenged

by CharityLambkin



Series: Pygmalion Avenged [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bondage, Bruce Banner Has Issues, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Demisexuality, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Alternating, Past Torture, Praise Kink, Science Bros, Slash, Slow Build, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:52:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 56
Words: 144,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharityLambkin/pseuds/CharityLambkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is an engineer.  He knows all about taking things apart, making them better, and putting them back together.  And if Tony knows one thing, he knows that Bruce needs some major maintenance and repair...maybe even a complete restoration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Suits

 

After three days of suffering as Stark’s lab assistant, Bruce needed a shower, a cup of good tea, and some solid sleep—and not necessarily in that order. 

So much of Tony’s cavalier reputation came from his supposed lack of work ethic, but after living in the Tower on and off for the better part of a year, Bruce was finding quite the opposite in reality.  Sure, Tony shrugged off business meetings as if they were nothing but telemarketing calls, but he was a taskmaster in the lab.  He gave orders to bots and Bruce alike in a brusque, direct voice that Bruce had never heard before, even when they had worked together on the Helicarrier.  Of course, Bruce mused, he had never before worked with Tony in his own territory.  He demanded the same perfection from his bots as he expected from himself—which often earned the bots rather colorful threats and criticisms.  At first, Bruce had been nervous that Tony would soon be just as exasperated with him once he realized that Bruce didn’t really have a lot of practical knowledge or skill in engineering.  Sure, he had a working understanding of mechanics and electronics, but he really couldn’t do much beyond building crude appliances and fixing basic machinery.

 It didn’t take long before Tony asked him to assist with tasks that he had never done before, but instead of being impatient or condescending, the engineer had simply smiled, dropped whatever he was doing, and showed Bruce the procedure.  It made him feel in the way—at least Dum-E, Butterfingers, and You seemed to know the names of all the tools, unlike Bruce, who had to surreptitiously ask JARVIS more than once.

Then again, when they finally parted ways, Tony had clapped him on the back and said, “You should have a doctorate in biomedical engineering to go with your collection.”  Bruce felt a flush of warmth at the memory.

But, Bruce thought, the three days were worth the anxiety.  They had finalized a redesign on the intramuscular fluid delivery system in the suit and JARVIS was already fabricating the prototype.  Tony said that he had the idea for a while, but he didn’t have the background in bioengineering or the time do the research it would take to build it.  Between the two of them, though, it was surprisingly easy to design.  The new system would allow JARVIS to administer precise doses of painkillers, antibiotics, and stimulants.  If Tony was ever seriously injured in the suit, it may just save his life.  Or, Bruce’s mind wandered, allow him to fight until his last breath.  “No need to be morbid, Banner,” he muttered to himself. 

Bruce dragged himself across the threshold of his apartment, toed off his loafers, and left them by the door.  Judging by the stiffness of his socks on the bamboo floor, he decided that his first priority should be a shower.

After the shower, Bruce stood in the kitchenette, brewing tea in his boxers and bathrobe.  “Doctor Banner,” JARVIS said with a slight edge in his voice, “Mister Stark says there is an emergency situation in the penthouse, and he requires your presence immediately.”

Bruce’s pulse leapt, and he had to take a deep breath before answering. “I’m on my way!” he said, racing out the door—though he did double-back to make sure he had turned off the stove.

Bruce rushed through the Tower to Tony’s penthouse suite.  All was quiet in the living room and the bar.  “Tony!” Bruce called.  “Hey, Stark, where are you?”

“In here!” Tony’s voice came from his bedroom.

Bruce hurried in to see Tony standing at the foot of his bed, dressed in pinstripe pants and a crisp burgundy shirt.  A bowtie hung loose around his collar.  “What’s the emergency?” Bruce asked, confused by Tony’s easy posture and formal appearance.

“The emergency is that you have only twenty minutes until we have to be downstairs for the gala!”

“That’s today? How long were we in the lab? And since when are you on time for anything?”

“It started two hours ago!”

“Oh.” Bruce sat down on the bed and rested his elbows on his knees.  “I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.  You know it’s not a good idea for me to be in a crowd like that.”

“Why?” Tony scoffed.  “Because you might actually have a good time around living, breathing people?”

“Tony, JARVIS is far more human than most people I’ve met, but you still have to admit your best friends are all robots.  _You_ don’t like people either.”

“That’s not true.  I am a philanthropist.  As long as they don’t touch me.  Or hand me things.  Or call me by my full name.  Anyway, you’re not getting out of this.  Everyone is going to be there, so people in the wrong places are going to get suspicious if you’re not there.”

Damn Tony using his own paranoia against him, but he was right.  The gala was in honor of the anniversary of the Battle of Manhattan—a fundraiser hosted by Stark for the people who were still suffering from the effects of the battle.  All the Avengers would be there, even Natasha and Clint, so his absence would be reported back to SHIELD, and he would probably have to explain to Fury why he wasn’t attending high-profile events when his team needed all the publicity it could get.  He tried to picture himself explaining to the Director that he was simply too tired to hold a smile, and he was afraid of saying too much or too little, or the wrong thing at the wrong time.  Somehow, saying “I’m shy,” didn’t seem like an excuse Fury would accept.  And, really, the less contact he had with SHIELD, the better.

Bruce sighed in defeat.

“Good, it’s decided, then,” Tony said.  He pulled Bruce to his feet.  “But, my dear Cinderella cannot go to the ball in such rags. There’s a suit for you in the closet.”

Bruce was wary of Tony’s gleeful smile as he stepped into the billionaire’s closet, which was actually a small apartment in and of itself.  It had entire _rooms_ for different types of clothes, and a central dressing area with drawers of watch cases, ties, and sunglasses, and a smooth wooden bench.  Bruce expected to go in and find one of Tony’s cast-off suits from the back of the closet, but a black garment bag, monogrammed _BB_ , hung from a peg on the wall. Bruce’s breath caught as he brushed his hand over the fine embroidery.  He unzipped the bag and his stomach dropped when he saw the exquisite tuxedo tucked neatly away.  Though he had traveled the world, Bruce would never call himself sophisticated, but even he could tell that this suit screamed class.

For a minute, Bruce considered not accepting the gift and promptly locking himself in his room for a few days.  “Don’t be ungrateful, Banner,” he muttered to himself as he started to dress.  “This is normal…for Tony.”

“Bruuucie!” Tony called from the bedroom beyond.  “Do you need help in there? My services are totally available!”

Bruce cautiously emerged from the closet.  “Uh…I’ve never really tied a bowtie before,” he stammered.

Tony’s didn’t answer immediately, and something inside Bruce dropped a little.  Tony’s face could be so expressive, his dark eyes sparkling with humor or scorn, depending on his mood.  He knew exactly how to quirk an eyebrow or crinkle the corner of his mouth in just the right suggestive way that it seemed like he was holding two or three conversations all at once.  But, he could also shield himself with a mask of bored indifference when he chose.  Bruce fiddled with the button, not sure if it should be buttoned or not and suddenly feeling self-conscious in the engineer’s enigmatic gaze.

“What’s the matter?” Bruce asked after a moment.  “Is it too ‘Socially Awkward Penguin’?”

Tony swallowed harshly, the sound of his throat clicking audible across the room.  “No.  100% James Bond.  007.  Pierce Brosnan, not George Lazenby.”  Tony took two quick steps to Bruce and batted his hands away from the button.  “Buttoned when you’re standing, unbuttoned when you’re sitting down,” he explained.  Bruce nodded gravely, as if some great universal mystery had just been revealed to him.  “How cute,” Tony said, “you don’t even know _how_ to wear a proper suit.”

Bruce ran his fingers through his greying curls.  “Yeah, I’m not exactly Bond material.  I think he can at least tie his own tie,” he said sheepishly.

Tony smiled, one of his genuine smiles that made his eyes and nose scrunch up in an odd way that he would never let happen in front of a camera.  He stood in front of Bruce and his deft fingers made quick work of the bowtie.  But he tugged at the knot and frowned before untying it again.  “Come here,” he pulled Bruce over to the mirror and stood behind him, looking over Bruce’s shoulder.  “I’m used to doing it like this,” he said.

Bruce met Tony’s eyes for a moment in the mirror, his own so full of doubt and apprehension. Tony rested his hands on Bruce’s shoulders.

“We’re going to go downstairs and celebrate our breakthrough in the suit.  We’re going to celebrate the anniversary of our victory over inter-dimensional aliens.  We’re going to celebrate that we’re still alive, even though the universe seems pretty dead set against the idea.” Tony shook Bruce a little, which made the corners of his mouth turn up.

“Hey, watch the tux,” Bruce murmured. 

“There, that’s the spirit!”  Tony spun Bruce around and gave his bowtie one last tug. Tony fished in his pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses.

“Why do I need new glasses? I have glasses.”  He got them from a street vendor in India, but he was pretty sure they were the right prescription.

Tony slid the gold wire frames onto Bruce’s nose.  “Sure, but you don’t have Stark Glasses.”  As he tucked the earpiece behind Bruce’s ear, he pressed a tiny switch and Bruce’s peripheral vision was flooded with information on his environment.  The exits of the room were highlighted in yellow, and a full schematic map of the Tower hovered in the bottom right.

“They’re connected to JARVIS, so you can see whatever he sees.  They don’t have any sensors, so they’re pretty useless outside of the range of the Tower or the suit, but it’s just the first prototype.”

“And I bet they have a tracking device?”

“Doctor Banner, I would never put a tracking device in your glasses,” JARVIS’s smooth voice intoned in his left ear.  “A subcutaneous device would be far superior.”

“No tracking device,” Tony assured.  “But I thought that they might make it easier to make a quick escape.  And there’s voice recognition and a speaker in the earpiece, so you can talk to JARVIS whenever you want.”

“Because talking to myself in the corner is going to make me seem a little less weird?”

Tony’s smile faltered a little, and Bruce regretted his comment.  Bruce knew that Tony was incomplete without his virtual counterpart.  Giving Bruce a direct, private link to JARVIS was like giving him access to part of his psyche.  But Tony gave him a funny look before saying, “You do know that you talk to yourself all the time anyway, right?  If anything, this is _less_ sociopathic.”

Bruce’s mouth quirked up a bit more and he pushed the glasses farther up his nose.  “Hey, Tony, that’s really thoughtful.  Thank you.”

“You still don’t want to go, do you?” Tony asked.

“No.  Not at all.”

Tony raised both hands in the universal “stay there” signal and stepped over to his nightstand.  He took a box from the drawer—please don’t be condoms, Bruce thought—and opened it in front of him to reveal a stunning watch nestled in black velvet.  Before Bruce could protest, Tony caught his left wrist, unbuckled his cheap plastic heart rate monitor, and fastened the sleek watchband.  Bruce looked at it closer.  “Is this gold?”

“Of course,” Tony said, mildly affronted.  “Gold is an excellent conductor.”

“Conductor?”

Tony leaned in and pressed a button flush with the side of the watch.  Immediately, a little heart and a digital number popped up in the upper corner of Bruce’s glasses. 

“It’s a heart rate monitor,” Bruce realized.

“James Bond has to have some cool undercover toys, doesn’t he?”

“If you’re going to resort to bribery, there’s a list of new lab equipment in your inbox,” Bruce said.

“Consider it taken care of. Anything else?”

Bruce sighed and let his eyes drop from Tony’s.  He felt like he was collapsing in on himself.  He wanted to go to the gala, but whenever he pictured himself in the grand Stark Tower ballroom, surrounded by so many people he didn’t know, always on guard for the wrong moment, the wrong question—it was draining.  He always made some mistake at any kind of social gathering, and it had nothing to do with the Other Guy and 100% with being dorky, awkward Bruce Banner. And to do that next to Tony Stark, and Captain Rogers, and elegant, beautiful Natasha…well, how could he ever hope to belong in their circle.

Bruce wanted to stay home, drink tea, and sleep for at least a week.  But Bruce never really got what he wanted.

“Ok, I’ll go,” he said.

Tony crossed his arms.  “I want you to _want_ to go.”

“Don’t push it,” Bruce warned.

“Fair enough.”  Tony pulled Bruce in front of the mirror again.  “Believe it or not, my introverted science soul mate, I do understand how you feel.” Bruce raised a skeptical eyebrow.  “Like you’re out of your league?  Everyone is watching far too closely and judging your every subconscious move?  Life under a microscope can do that to a person.”  Tony folded an ivory silk pocket square and artfully tucked it into place in Bruce’s coat.

“But,” he continued, “there’s more than one kind of suit of armor.  This is the kind of armor I first learned how to wear.  A good suit can make you look good, but a _great_ suit is a shield against the enemy.  It’s a shell you can use to hide yourself away and pretend to be someone else for a while.  Besides, you look powerful, and smart, and sexy as hell.”

Bruce shied and ducked his head into his hands.  “Tony…I can’t be you.”

“Of course you can’t.  That would create some space-time-identity clusterfuck paradox.  But you can be Doctor Bruce Banner, scientific consultant and Stark R&D superstar.”

Bruce looked back into the mirror for a moment, then into the reflection of Tony’s eyes.

“I guess I could be a paradox…just for one night.”

“My dear doctor, you are always a paradox.”

“I am not.”

“Exactly.”

Bruce sat on the bench in the dressing room and watched Tony finish with his own attire while he toyed with his new heart rate monitor.  Tony shrugged on a pinstripe jacket, knotted his tie, and added a pair of rose-tinted sunglasses.

“Sunglasses?  It’s dark outside.”

“I’m going to run the paparazzi gauntlet and come in through the front.  Sunglasses help with the camera flashes.”

Bruce paled noticeably. 

“I’m sending you down through the private elevator,” Tony reassured him.  “I don’t think you want to deal with the press.”

“No, not all.” The public had no idea that the giant green monster was his alter ego, so he probably wouldn’t be looked at twice, but the idea of so many loud voices and bright lights made him cringe. 

“I didn’t think so.  I’ll meet you inside. I’m taking Happy with me, and Pepper is probably already waiting, but you’re going to get inside before I do, so I’ve arranged for an escort.”

“You got me a date?”  Bruce asked, incredulous, but Tony just smirked in return. 

“I thought of _everything._ She should be here already.  Go see if she’s in the bedroom.”

Bruce shot Tony a highly disapproving expression, which only earned him a twitch of an eyebrow to go with the smirk.

“Paid for or not, you’re being rude: rude to her to keep her waiting and rude to me for going out of my way to make sure you—“

“Tony!” Bruce cut him off.

“Well, don’t thank me until you see her,” Tony turned back to the mirror to adjust the patch of gauze he used to hide the glow of the arc reactor and promptly ignored Bruce’s continued protests.

“Fine!  I’m sending her home.”

“Yeah, good luck with that one.”

Bruce took a deep breath and peeked around the edge of the dressing room door.  There was no one on the bed, so he continued out into the living room of Tony’s suite. 

Natasha, dressed in a sequined green and black gown, was waiting patiently in Tony’s favorite arm chair.  Her eyes went wide for just a moment as Bruce came around the corner—for her, it was an extreme expression of surprise—before her red mouth bloomed into a wide smile.

“Doctor Banner,” she said as she rose in one fluid movement, “I don’t believe I’m looking at the same man I met in India a year ago.”

Bruce ducked his head a little.  “You’re beautiful,” he mumbled a little, “but you’re always beautiful.  But tonight you’re beautiful in a more…shiny…way, I guess.”  He winced at the sound of his own words.

Natasha lowered her head to catch his gaze.  “Thank you,” she said, and Bruce thought it sounded genuine, but Natasha was good at that.

Tony appeared beside them and pressed his hand on Bruce’s lower back.  “Ok, kids, let’s get the show on the road.  I can just _feel_ Pepper planning horrible retribution for skipping the first three hours of her party.”

 


	2. Chapter 2: Good Night

 

“Apple juice.  Two.  On the rocks, please.”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

Tony leaned against the bar so he had a better view of Bruce’s table, tucked into a corner near the kitchens.  The physicist looked like he was actually trying to have fun for once in his life.  Well, Bruce’s definition of “fun” was far different that his, but at least he wasn’t sitting morosely in the corner like Tony feared he would. 

As it was, Bruce was leaning back in his chair between Natasha and Clint, his head snapping back and forth as they told a story.  He watched as Steve materialized from the dance floor, only to be intercepted by a gaggle of rhinestone-encrusted women before he could make it to the table.  He politely shrugged them off and quickly pulled up a chair opposite the trio.

And then _it_ happened, what Tony had been watching for all night.  Bruce’s eye lit up as he leaned forward to interject a comment into Natasha’s narrative.  Tony couldn’t hear anything, but he saw Bruce’s mouth quirk and his eyebrows rise in anticipation right before the other three burst into laughter. 

“Mr. Stark? Your drinks?” The bartender asked politely.

Tony startled and turned around to see his glasses waiting.  He must have been staring for a while because the condensation ran in rivulets to soak rings into the napkins.  “Thank you,” he said, scooping them up.  “And bring a round of champagne to the table over there,” he said, pointing out his teammates.

“Of course, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony?” he heard a high, female voice call through the crowd and he didn’t wait for the rest of the drinks to escape to the Avenger’s protection.  Pepper was running him ragged moving from group to group, exchanging meaningless pleasantries.  It had taken them an hour to get through the front entrance, what with every politician in town wanting to pose for a picture (and most of them pretty damn disappointed that it was just Tony and not Iron Man shaking their hands).  And of course, they all wanted to know where the rest of the Avengers were when this was _their_ gala after all.  But Tony was an expert at curt answers and smooth dismissals, when really he was seething to tell them that the rest of the Avengers were smart enough to hide from this crowd, but yes, please give us your money because this is all for charity after all.

For far too long, Tony was pulled this way and that by people who thought he gave even a fraction of a shit about them.  But Tony couldn’t help stealing glances at Bruce in passing as Pepper wrangled him across the room.  To their credit, Natasha, Clint, and Steve seemed to run some excellent interference so that Bruce didn’t ever have to interact with someone he didn’t either know or actively seek out.  And, ok, Steve was obviously playing the protective knight in armor deal, but the two spies knew how to play it off pretty well.  In fact, by the Tony’s third pass by their table, Bruce was actually leaning back in his chair, shoulders loose, with a smile stretched across his face.  He wasn’t fidgeting, or playing with his glasses, though he would carefully touch his watch every few minutes. 

So Tony had been able to sneak only a few furtive glances towards Bruce in the past two hours, which was absolutely not acceptable because, really, it should be a criminal offence for Bruce to leave his room in anything other than a perfectly tailored suit.  Despite his best efforts to look professional and put-together, Bruce always looked like he had just tumbled out of the dryer in a fluffy, linty heap.  His suit jackets were second-hand, starting to wear through in the elbows and the cuffs.  His shirts, too, were threadbare and faded.  But, Tony mused, Doctor Banner cleaned up rather well.  He was entranced by the sight of Bruce in tuxedo that he had made for him.  Well, he had Pepper arrange it, and the measurements were based on JARVIS’s bioscans, but it didn’t really matter because Bruce looked like he was born to wear a tux.  The satin lapels curved gracefully from Bruce’s broad shoulders, narrowing to his trim waist, and Tony had never seen how lean Bruce really was under all those layers of too-big clothing.   Even the shoes looked great—shiny, new patent leather.  Tony wondered when Bruce last bought a pair of anything other than thrift-shop oxfords and bargain loafers.

And the bowtie.  Oh yeah, there was going to be a new house mandate regarding Bruce and bowties.

Tony arrived at the table, immediately followed by a waiter with the open champagne and glasses, which he set on the table. 

“Here,” Tony said, proffering one of the drinks in his hand to Bruce. 

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Bruce stuttered and waved it away.

“Take it,” Tony insisted.  He pressed the cold, delicate crystal into Bruce’s hand.  “There’s no alcohol in it—just hold it.  Keep it in your hand and it will keep other people from trying to give you real drinks or handing you…things…that you don’t want to take.”

“What kind of things?” Bruce asked.  His eyebrows rose skeptically of their own accord.

“All kind of things: business cards, phone numbers, drugs, underwear—look, just trust me.”

“Ok, ok,” Bruce conceded and took the glass.

Clint poured the champagne for himself, Natasha, and Steve.  He raised an eyebrow towards Tony, but Tony just raised his glass a bit in reply, and Clint shrugged in return.  “What are we drinking to?” he asked.

“To the Battle of Manhattan,” Steve asserted.

Tony looked askance at Bruce.  “And to waking up the next day.”

“Hell, to waking up this morning,” Clint added.

“In your own bed,” Natasha followed quickly.

The four of them turned to Bruce.  His eyes slid to study the half-empty drink as he turned it around in his hands, and Tony knew he wanted to wring his hands together but was willing himself not to do it.  Then, Bruce’s gaze turned shyly toward each of them in turn as he said, “to being here, right now, with all of you.”  His eyes settled on Tony, last of all, and the sincerity in Bruce’s face made that place between the arc reactor and his spine throb.

They raised their glasses and downed their drinks. Tony had to swallow his quickly to get rid of the lump in his throat, and he forgot for a moment that it was the sticky sweetness of juice and not the pleasant burn of alcohol and almost choked anyway.  But, then, Clint poured him that glass of champagne after all, and Bruce looked at him in concern as he coughed, and everything was worth it.

****

Tony woke up, half-dressed, in his own bed.  It was dark, and the glow of the arc reactor was muted under the sheets.  He rolled onto his side and groaned as the movement awoke a throbbing headache.  “Jaaarrvisss…” he moaned.

“Yes, sir?”

“How did I get here?”

“If you are referring to your currently inebriated state, you attempted to match Miss Romanov’s alcohol consumption.  If you are referring to your physical location, Doctor Banner assisted you to bed.”

“Ooohhh...I always miss the fun parts.”  Tony tried to find a cool spot on the pillow for his aching head, but flipping it around seemed like far too much work.  “Bruuce is nice,” he slurred.  “I saw _it_ tonight!  He let his guard down for just a second, but it was there.  Bruce is a good guy, but he doesn’t let himself feel _good_.  Why’s he always so sad, JARVIS?”

“I do not have the data to extrapolate an answer, Sir.”

Tony punched the pillow into a ball and stuffed it under his neck, but that just made the arc reactor sit funny and feel too heavy in his chest, so he flattened it back out.  “Collect more data.  Cannot compute.  That’s some pretty shitty advice, J.”

“You did not ask for advice, Sir.  Would you like my insight?”

“Always.”

“Doctor Banner wishes me ‘good night’ every time he goes to bed.”

“Every time?” Tony winced.  _He_ didn’t even wish JARVIS good night _every_ time he went to bed.

“Every time, Sir.  But don’t worry, Sir. You programmed me so that I would never think to be offended.”

“You’re walking that line between irony and sarcasm, J.”

“What I meant, Sir, is that I did not realize how much something like that would mean to me.  I do believe I am starting to integrate this ritual into my self-worth system.”

“Way to kick a man when he’s down, J.”  Tony flopped over and buried his head under the pillow.

“Sir, no one could take your place.  Your hands have been places in my CPU that I, quite frankly, am embarrassed to remember.”

Tony huffed from under the pillows.  He started to drift off before he heard JARVIS say, “Good night, Sir.”

 _“Good night,_ JARVIS.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always cherished.


	3. Chapter3: Burned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the great feedback. You are very appreciated!

Bruce found Tony sprawled out in bed, one arm thrown over his eyes and the other clutching a pillow to his chest.  He walked softly across the room, just in case Tony was still asleep, and set a large glass of water on the nightstand.

“Are you asleep?” Bruce asked in a stage whisper. 

“Shhh!  I’m hiding from the hangover,” Tony murmured without moving.

“I brought you something to help with that.  You should come downstairs and eat something.  Clint’s cooking for everyone.”

Tony groaned.  “No food.  Aspirin first.”

“Are you feeling sick?”

“Don’t talk about it unless you want a demonstration,” Tony said, pulling the pillow up over his eyes.

Bruce was not particularly bothered by the idea of vomit in general, and especially not Tony throwing up on clothes that were from his own closet.  His 5 million thread count sheets might disagree, though.  “Aspirin will make it worse on an empty stomach.  You’ll feel better once you’ve had something to eat and drink.  And Pepper told me that she was going to come after us if we didn’t show for breakfast.  She thinks I’m going to lock you in the shop all day.”

“Is that a promise, Doctor?”

Bruce tried to pull the pillow from Tony’s face, but Tony had a good grip on it.  “Ok!” Tony relented, hefting the pillow at Bruce.  It bounced off his chest onto the floor.  “Just…just give me a few minutes to convince my body to move.”  He patted the space next to him on the king-sized bed.  “Here, just sit down and give me a chance to wake up a little more.”

The mattress sank with Bruce’s weight as he sat down, which earned another moan from Tony as his body shifted.  Tony reached out a hand to steady himself.  Warm and heavy with sleep, Tony’s hand curled around Bruce’s knee, and a hot thrill washed over Bruce like a wave.  The feeling was so intense that his body’s first reaction was to purge it as if it was toxic.  His spine stiffened and his muscles clenched until his entire body felt tight.  He immediately took a deep breath and exhaled the emotion out, too quickly to analyze and identify it.  All he knew was that he had to stop it before it rose out of control, so he slid gently away from Tony’s arm.

“You are on edge,” Tony said, opening his eyes enough for a pointed look.  “Did something happen last night?  Did I drink too much and do something horrible to you?”

Bruce shook his head and tried to make his voice light.  “No, nothing like that.  I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Tony asked.

Tony sat up and reached out again, towards his shoulder this time, and Bruce reflexively moved back--only a few centimeters, but Tony noticed and froze. 

“You’re acting weird,” Tony said.

Bruce barked out a short laugh. “ _I’m_ acting weird?” he said, affronted.  He grabbed the water glass from the nightstand and thrust it towards Tony.  “Here!  Take it!”  Tony threw his hands up in the air.  “You call me weird? Take the damn glass, Tony.”

“Fuck you, Banner,” Tony said, collapsing back onto the bed, laughing.  “I have a _thing_.  It’s a condition!”

“Yeah, it’s called being a spoiled brat,” Bruce said.  He made a move as if he was going to throw the glass of water on Tony, which made Tony shriek half in anticipation and half in hysterical laughter.  Bruce set the glass back on the nightstand and pointed to it.  “Drink it.  You’ll feel better.”

“So what’s your _thing_?”  Tony asked.  He propped himself up on one elbow and grabbed the glass, gulping it down while staring at Bruce, waiting for his answer.

No easy answer came to Bruce’s mind, not even a sarcastic remark.  He wanted to say something to Tony so badly.  So many years had passed since someone last gave him a chance to talk about what he felt that he had forgotten the words.  He didn’t know what he really wanted to say, or how to say it, and that alone made the back of his throat burn with actual pain.  “There is no right way to answer that question,” Bruce finally replied, long after Tony had set the empty glass down.

For a moment, the look on Tony’s face made Bruce think that he wasn’t going to let it go.  But Tony just looked him dead in the eyes and slowly nodded.  “Ok,” he said, seriously.  “It’s ok.”

And, for once in a very long time, Bruce wanted to believe it. 

****

That strange welling of emotion haunted Bruce for the rest of the day.  He felt restless and distracted, which caused careless mistakes in the shop.  Of course, Bruce’s accidents weren’t even measured on the same scale as Tony’s, but he still had a small collection of burns and bruises by the time they broke for lunch.

As he was cleaning up his station, he leaned his arm on a hot soldering iron which he had forgotten to unplug.  He yelped, more in surprise than real pain, which made Tony whip his head around in alarm.  Bruce unplugged the vicious tool and inspected the burn.  A blister was already forming, so he fetched the first-aid kit.  Really, he didn’t have to worry much about infection since his gamma-irradiated blood tended to nuke viruses and bacteria; but, he did worry that the blister would tear and contaminate Tony’s shop.  He wrapped his forearm in a layer of gauze. He was concentrating on holding the wrap in place while trying to rip a piece of tape with his teeth when a pair of clever, elegant, grease-coated hands covered his.

Bruce let the gauze and the tape fall as he pulled his hands away.  “Hey, you’re filthy!”

The only response he got was a raised eyebrow before Tony went to wash his hands in the big, stainless steel sink.  Bruce picked up the fallen tape and gauze and hurried to wrap his arm before Tony could try to “help” again.

“Come on!  Don’t give me shit for having dirty hands if you’re going to pick that up off the _floor_ and wrap it around a burn,” Tony said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Bruce mumbled around the tape in his teeth.  He ripped the tape and pressed it down before holding out his bandaged arm for inspection.  “See, it’s fine.”

Tony crossed his arms across his chest.  He had pushed his welding goggles onto his forehead where they caught the glare of the blue holographic displays, and sweat made little rivulets through the grease stains on his neck and shoulders, highlighting the curves and cords of muscle. 

“Roll up your sleeves,” Tony demanded.

Bruce sighed and complied.  He pushed up the sleeves of his brown button-down to reveal several Band-Aids and purpling bruises, reaching from his wrist up his biceps, disappearing under the scrunched-up sleeve.

“What the hell have you been doing?  Wrestling the pieces into place?  I have hammers for that, you know.  Bruce, you’re usually the most meticulous guy I know.  Like, you deserve a safety award.”

Bruce yanked his sleeves back down, not bothering to button the cuffs.  “That’s not funny, Tony.”  His anger flared deeply at Tony’s joke.  Bruce had made only one mistake in his career, and everything had been taken from him because of it.  And then there’s Tony Fucking Stark, who can blow himself up sixty ways from Sunday and walk away from it every time.  But, the anger was a strangely welcome feeling after that nameless electric shock of an emotion from earlier.  He could deal with anger.

Tony shifted from one foot to the other and readjusted his arms, but didn’t uncross them.  “There’s something wrong with you.”

“There’s always something wrong with me,” Bruce said, a slight growling edge to his voice.

“Yeah, I know, but more wrong than usual.”  Tony uncrossed his arms and let his hands hang loose at his sides.  His shoulders relaxed and he leaned slightly away from Bruce. 

Only then did Bruce notice that his shoulders were hunched and his hands were tightened into fists.  He forced his muscles to relax.  Tony didn’t look frightened, but he was definitely giving Bruce his space.  Suddenly, he felt worn out—maybe sleep deprivation had finally caught up to him.  He slumped back, leaning on the metal table, and rubbed his hands over his eyes.  His glasses were pushed up his forehead, and they slid back down to sit crookedly on his nose.

“I think I’m tired,” Bruce said.  He looked up to see Tony looking back at him, softly, patiently waiting for him to go on.  Bruce’s chest tightened as he continued, “I’m having trouble…processing.  I think my sympathetic nervous system is out of whack.”

“No, this is more than just being a little tired.  Did you sleep last night?”

“Yeah.  I’m not that concerned, really.  Can we just drop it?”

Tony harrumphed.  “I’ll say we can drop it, but you know I’m not really going to drop it.”

“Yeah, I know that.”

“Good.  Let’s go eat.  I’m cooking.  You’re not allowed near the knives.”

Tony strode out of the room without looking back, leaving Bruce to follow.  Bruce breathed deeply, filling his chest all the way down to his belly and letting it out in a heaving sigh.  He smiled to himself--privately, where Tony couldn’t see--before trailing him out of the room.

 


	4. Chapter 4: Paradox

Bruce, Tony realized, is a paradox.

He wondered why it took him so long to notice.  Bruce had been living in the Tower on and off for most of the past year, and he spent a lot of that time in Tony’s shop—and Tony’s living room, kitchen, lab, and balcony—but Tony had never really paid much attention to the other scientist.  In his defense, Bruce worked hard to make himself as unnoticeable as possible, so, really, Tony was not to blame. Really.

But, now that he did notice, Tony couldn’t help observing other characteristics of his dear Doctor Banner.  First of all, Bruce avoided physical contact from everybody.  Everybody.  As if it was actually painful to touch and be touched.  The reason he hadn’t really noticed before is that no one ever _tried_ to touch Bruce.  They gave him his space, let him choose the distance between them, and did not initiate contact.  So, for Bruce, it was just…normal.

Tony, on the other hand, was a handsy guy, with the sexual harassment lawsuits to prove it.  He didn’t think he could go an entire day without feeling that living connection between himself and another living being.  Well, sure, sometimes he broadened that definition to include Dum-E, You, and Butterfingers, but still…they were good friends, too.  Poor Pepper still bore the brunt of his onslaught.  But even he had been sucked into the no-touchy-Brucie club.  Bruce just put off vibes that screamed _leave me alone._

And, as oblivious as Tony was to Bruce’s idiosyncrasies, Bruce was hyperaware of everyone else’s.  He had never had to tell Bruce that he didn’t like to be handed things; Bruce just seemed to know to silently set objects down next to Tony.  Tony just took it for granted and never thought much about it until Bruce had thrust that water glass towards him and jokingly demanded he take it.  Since then, every time he found something he needed just at his elbow—whether it was a drill bit or a cup of coffee—he was pretty sure that he knew who put it there.

All of this new knowledge would have been interesting, but not necessarily important, if not for the newfound fact that Bruce was a paradox.  Like laws-of-physics-breaking, philosophically-earth-shattering, mind-fucking paradox. 

So, Tony hypothesized, when Bruce sent out those _I’m fine, stay away_ wavelengths, what he was really saying was _I’m hurt_ and _don’t go_.  Maybe, just maybe, Tony was wrong…it’s been known to happen, after all.  But if he wasn’t wrong—if Bruce really was suffering—then he should do something about it…as a philanthropist, of course.

With that idea in mind, and a total lack of a plan, Tony waited for a quiet moment in the shop to bring up the subject again.  He didn’t really know why, but the shop seemed to lend itself best to serious conversations between the two scientists.  Maybe it was the opportunity to shift focus to work if the subject became too disquieting or the sense of safety thanks to the complex security systems.  Whatever the reason, both Tony and Bruce considered the shop to be a sacred space—or as Clint liked to call it, the “Super Science Bros Clubhouse.”

Tony was sitting at his desk, listening to Van Halen, and tinkering with the designs to the oxygen systems for a deep-space suit when Bruce came in with a plate of sandwiches.   Off to the side of the shop were two couches and low table, far enough away to keep the worst of the dust and shavings away from the food.  Bruce set the plate down on the table and grabbed two bottles of water from the refrigerator built into the wall.

“Hey, come eat,” Bruce called over the music.  Dum-E trundled over to him with a roll of paper towels in his claw.  “Why, thank you,” Bruce said.  He tore off two and put them on the table before handing the roll back.  “Could you put them back, please?”  Dum-E chirped in pleasure and rolled off. 

Tony flopped onto the couch, positioning himself so that Bruce would have to either sit next to him or step over his outspread legs to get to the other couch.  Bruce took in the situation, then nonchalantly grabbed a sandwich and started to eat it standing.

“Bruce, sit down,” Tony said, patting the seat next to him.

Bruce glanced around--looking for a window to jump out of, Tony bet.  After a moment’s hesitation, he lowered himself onto far end of the couch, leaning into the armrest.

“I think you’re touch-starved,” Tony said, so suddenly that he surprised even himself. 

Bruce paused.  “Is that the technical term?” he asked evenly.

“JARVIS?” Tony called into the air.

“It’s referred to as somatosensory deprivation,” JARVIS answered.

“Thanks, Web MD,” Bruce muttered.  He sighed.  “I’ve been restless, lately.  It’s been a really long time since I’ve stayed in one place for more than a few weeks.”

“This isn’t recent, Bruce,” Tony said.  He moved so he was sitting on one end of the couch instead of taking up the entire space.  “Here, seriously, I’ll stay on my cushion and you’ll stay on yours.”

One side of Bruce’s mouth quirked up.  “It’s not like that.  I have to touch people all the time. I’ve touched every member of the team while patching them up after a fight.  You know that.  You’ve had me fix you up more than once.”

That was true, Tony admitted.  In fact, Tony would much rather Bruce clean the cuts and scrapes he gathered under the armor than some strange doctor from SHIELD.  He didn’t even have a personal doctor, not since Afghanistan.  And the rest of the team treated him as their personal medic whenever he was handy.

“But,” Tony reasoned aloud, “that’s _Doctor Banner_.  I’m talking about _Bruce._   You don’t let people close.”

Bruce winced.  “Yeah, that’s a major house rule when you share mental apartment space with the Other Guy.”

“So how long has it been?”

Bruce looked at him with confusion.  “Since what?”

“Since you’ve let someone touch you.” Tony leaned back into the couch, giving Bruce time to think before expecting a response.

Bruce opened his mouth to speak but no words came out.  His eyes looked suddenly far away, and it took him a moment to come back to himself.  His gaze dropped.  “I don’t remember,” he said finally.

Tony snorted.  “You’re an awful liar. How about sex?  You can’t have forgotten that.”

Bruce blushed fiercely, which did funny things to Tony’s stomach.  But he shoved those feelings down—no, he was trying to initiate a serious, deep, discussion with his buddy about sex, and he couldn’t let—well, sexiness—ruin that.

Bruce looked away before he answered, simply, “Betty.”

The admission both shocked and totally did not shock Tony at the same time.  Bruce had been quite literally around the world since he and Betty parted ways, and he refused to believe that the well-mannered, soft-spoken, kind-hearted doctor did not have a few admirers along the way.  But, then again, of course Bruce wouldn’t risk losing control over himself and endangering someone he cared about, especially if it was just for the sake of his own pleasure.

Bruce crumbled up his napkin and threw it on the table.  “I just can’t.  It’s not worth the risk of losing control.”

Tony had no idea why his mouth decided to say, “Have you ever tried bondage?” But he said it, so he decided to just roll with it and followed up with a cavalier smile.

Bruce was taken aback, and spluttered and coughed and pulled his glasses off his nose, and then fell silent without answering.  Tony interpreted his response as a “yes,” or “yes please,” or at least a “yes, please continue.”

“Well, sometimes giving up control makes it seem like you’re very in control.  You can give up the responsibility for a little while.”

Bruce, surprising Tony, did not run away immediately.  He crossed his arms and looked Tony square in the eyes.  “And you’re the responsible one around here?”

“Touché, Doctor.  I can be responsible.  Or at least pretend for long enough to count.  But you didn’t answer my question.  Ever tried it?”

“No.”

“Ever think about it?”

“No.  I’ve been tied down before,” he answered and his eyes flickered with green.

“This is different,” Tony said though he can hear the doubt in his own voice. 

“Well, I would hope so,” Bruce replied.  “Look, Tony, I don’t know why we’re having this conversation.  I do appreciate the concern, but I’ve gone so long without it that it’s not a problem anymore.  I’m used to it.  Maybe it’s strange to you, but I’ve been to monasteries where men live their entire lives without sex.”

“Were you happy there?” Tony asked, trying desperately to keep any sense of irony out of his voice and mostly failing.

“Yes, actually.”

Tony waited until Bruce turned his gaze towards him.  He held his eyes so there was no escape from answering.  “Then why didn’t you stay?”

“I…just…it wasn’t for me,” Bruce trailed off in murmur.  His face crumpled like the napkin for a brief second before he regained his composure with a ragged breath.  “But it’s not like I have people lining up to be with me anyway,” he said, voice harsh with a sudden edge.

Tony’s eyebrows shot up at the sudden change of tone, but he did not comment on it.  “I have a reputation for sleeping with anything on two legs…though I do draw the line at fur and feathers.”

Bruce looked at him sidelong, warily, like he feared a trap.  “What are you saying, exactly?”

“Well, we’re friends, and I’d be willing to upgrade our status to include a benefit package,” Tony said in his best impersonation of Tony Stark, CEO. 

“Friends…with benefits,” Bruce repeated.

“Do you need a moment with Urban Dictionary?”

That got him a short smile from the shocked scientist.  “No, I’m familiar with the term.  I just think you’re crazy.”  Bruce gathered up the empty plate and stood.  “If you don’t show your face by dinner, I’m coming down to get you,” he said as he moved towards the door.

Tony couldn’t believe he was walking out of the conversation.  “Hey, we’re not done here!”

“I am,” Bruce replied, calmly but firmly.  “Dinner.  Don’t forget.”  He disappeared out the door.

Tony melted into the couch for a moment.  The large room seemed very empty and cold, and Tony fought the urge to run after Bruce, just so he didn’t have to be alone.  He wasn’t quite sure where that question about bondage came from, or if he had really intended for the conversation to go where it did, but he also did not regret it. Nope.  Not for a second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments and support!


	5. Chapter 5: Quid Pro Quo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce proposes a deal.

Psychology just wasn’t Bruce’s field.  He had never had the desire to study it beyond the confines of his university classes.  Mostly, he thought, he didn’t want to fall into the cycle of self-analysis in which every quasi-psychology student seemed to become mired. So, even though he knew of somatosensory deprivation, he did not think of himself in those terms.  But then Tony—or JARVIS, technically—blurted it out and forced the issue out into the open. 

Not that it _was_ an issue, if anyone bothered to ask Bruce.

For his entire life, anyone reaching out to him usually foretold pain and danger…and that was before his time in Ross’s custody.  The only exception had been Betty—always Betty—but even she had been so very scared of him by the end.  He wouldn’t ever forget the last time he saw her as a free man, when she was about to get in the taxi and he had reached out to hug her one last time.  She had recoiled violently, and then acquiesced to the embrace with stiff, clumsy movements.  That had hurt so much more than any welt a leather belt could leave.  Life was so much easier and less painful when he avoided moments like those and stayed away from people instead of scaring them off.

Originally, he planned to completely ignore Tony’s comment and move on.  After all, it was not the first time Tony made an off-color comment, and he was positive that it wouldn’t be the last.  But, that night, he dreamed of the Hulk. 

Bruce knew it was a dream because he wasn’t wearing his heart rate monitor.  For some reason, his dream-self never wore it, so it was an easy tell.  Also, he has never actually seen the Hulk in waking life.

In the dream, he stood in front of the ruin of Stark Tower under a concrete-gray sky.  The street was utterly deserted, and the only sound was the scuff of his bare feet on the crumbling asphalt.  Bruce looked up, noting that the surrounding buildings showed no damage, though the Tower was a charred, jagged mess.  A bright spot glinted far up in the sky.  He shaded his eyes and squinted up just in time to see the Hulk leap into the sky and catch the metallic sparkle.

Bruce relaxed a bit.  This dream was familiar, one of the Other Guy’s favorite memories to replay for him. 

The dream-Hulk scraped down the side of a skyscraper before tumbling down onto the street in front of Bruce, cradling Iron Man’s smoking form to his chest.  His massive green muscles bunched as he straightened up, gently laying the armor down.  The arc reactor was dark and cold in the center, and the Hulk looked directly at Bruce, slamming his fist down with a bellow.

“This is a dream,” Bruce said.  His voice felt flat and far away.  “It’s ok, he’s not dead.  I just talked to him today.”

The Hulk raised both fists over his head, screaming his rage to the empty sky before looking pointedly at Bruce.  “Another waste of a lucid dream,” Bruce sighed and picked his way over the rubble to Tony’s side.  “Some people get unicorns with jet packs and I get a Hulk.”

Bruce knelt by Tony’s side, but he couldn’t quite figure out how to pop the armor’s faceplate.  His movements lacked the urgency of a real emergency, but dream-time was odd and he felt like it was taking an extraordinary amount of time.  He gave up and turned his attention to the arc reactor, dim and lifeless.  If he could get the power going again, maybe he would be able to activate the armor’s self-disassembly process.  He tapped it a few times, but there was no reaction.

Bruce glanced around, but there was no one except the Hulk, panting and staring with forlorn eyes.  “Fix it,” the Hulk growled out.

“I don’t know how,” Bruce admitted.  “I can’t even get to it.  You could try, but you’d probably break him first.”

Hulk looked taken aback, which startled Bruce.  He had never seen anything even remotely like shock on the Hulk’s features before, either in dreams or in pictures.  “Hulk NOT smash!”

“Uh…yeah…good to know.  But, uh, I’m not quite sure what I’m supposed to do here.”

Hulk scoffed.  “Puny Banner not so smart.  Can’t fix Tin Man’s heart.”  He lowered his massive head down, his shoulders bunching in thick cords of muscle as he rested his weight on his hands.  Bruce could see his reflection in his gamma-green eyes, all shaggy hair and glasses.  Really, Bruce thought, there was no way they were the same person; they didn’t even look like each other.  “Puny Banner won’t even try.”

And that made Bruce angry.

Bruce awoke, twisting violently in sweat-drenched sheets.  Rage bubbled just under the surface of his skin, threatening to burst outward.  He brought his knees to his chest, hands over his ears, and eyes shut tight, trying to block out everything but the determination to keep his body under control.  He forced his lungs to take deep, ragged breaths.

Eventually, Bruce became aware of his surroundings as the threat passed.  He was in his room, alone in comfort of the dark.  He groped for the water he usually left on the bedside table, and his hand closed around a bottle.  He gulped it down.  It was stale, but that was fine because it helped wash down the taste of bile in the back of his throat. 

“JARVIS?” Bruce asked softly, voice rough and creaky.

“Yes, Doctor Banner,” JARVIS replied, equally soft

“Is everything alright?”

“As it ever is, Doctor Banner.  All security systems are online and operational.  Do you require assistance?”

“No, I’m fine…thanks.”

Bruce stumbled from the bed, untangling the damp sheets into a pile on the floor.  The itch of a transformation still rippled under his skin, but he knew he had turned it back for now.  After pacing across the room a few times, he sniffed around for a clean shirt and headed out to the balcony for some air.

He didn’t bother going back to bed.

****

The next time Bruce and Tony were alone together, they were, of course, in the lab.  It had been a few days since Tony’s off-hand proposition, though Tony seemed to have already forgotten about it.  He hadn’t brought it up again, hadn’t been any more touchy-feely than usual, and had generally left Bruce alone about the whole business.

Bruce couldn’t decide if he was relieved or disappointed.

They lounged on the couches, too tired to keep working, but too worked up to go to bed.  Bruce felt foggy in the all-nighter haze that he remembered from his days at the university and his first few internships.  It felt good, in a strange way, like the ache the day after a hard workout.  Tony was stretched out, clutching a cushion to his chest in the way that told Bruce that he was hurting from too long without a proper break.

“I could try to wrap your ribs for you,” Bruce offered.  “It might help support them and relieve some of the ache.”

Tony gave Bruce a hard, calculating stare.  He had never directly told Bruce about the pain the arc reactor caused him, but Bruce _was_ a doctor and he didn’t need a degree to know that having a fist-sized piece of hardware pressing on essential organs must hurt at least a little.  So Bruce focused on keeping his face neutral and non-judgmental.

After a long moment, Tony turned his gaze back to the ceiling.  “M’fine,” he said.  A sly grin spread across his face.  “Unless you’re just looking for an excuse to put your hands all over my shirtless, rippling muscles.”

Bruce’s mouth went dry, though Tony’s comment was far tamer than usual for the engineer.  He was probably trying to distract Bruce; then again, Bruce thought, he could be trying to distract himself, too.

“I could do it over your shirt if it makes you uncomfortable,” Bruce said as innocently as he could.

Tony snorted, then winced a little and his fingers twitched hard against the cushion.  Bruce wanted to cringe in sympathy.

“I was…um…thinking about what you…uh…what you said the other day,” Bruce continued, to fill the silence more than anything.  Tony’s hands stilled and he turned his head to give Bruce his full attention.

“I say a lot of things,” Tony prompted after a minute.

“About…sex?” Bruce said.  He rubbed a hand over his face to give himself a moment to think of how to say the next part.  “I think you’re right.”

Tony’s hand dropped off the pillow and his face lit up with a grin. “I usually am.” 

“BUT I think it’s a bad idea,” Bruce continued.  He sighed.  “Even before the Other Guy, sex just isn’t the same for me as it is for other people.”

“What do you mean?” Tony asked. 

“It’s hard for me to…well…feel anything when I’m with another person.  Sometimes, when I used to try, I felt like I was so far away, like it wasn’t really me.  The sensation was unsettling, and touching became too uncomfortable to deal with.”

Tony looked thoughtful for a long moment.  “Tell me about Betty,” he said, and though it was obviously a demand and not a request, his voice was gentle.

Her name resonated somewhere deep in his chest.  Even after all this time, thinking of her made some knot inside start to unfurl.  He smiled a bit and took a deep breath. 

“Things like that were different with Betty.  It wasn’t about just sex.  I don’t know how to explain it, really, because I don’t have much to compare it to, but…well…she cared.”

Tony’s breath hitched, which made Bruce look over in concern.  Bruce recognized the expression on Tony’s face—it was the same as when he had decided to announce his suicide attempt to his brand new teammates and an entire boat of spies on the Helicarrier. 

“Bruce, have you ever heard of the term ‘demi-sexual’?”

“No.”

“It means that you need to have an emotional connection in order to feel sexual attraction.  Which is a shame because one night stands are kind of awesome, especially in foreign countries,” Tony said.

Bruce gave it a moment to sink in.  His only relationship had started as a friendship, but he could hardly draw a conclusion without a lot more data. 

Tony’s face changed from thoughtful concern to outright joy.  “Oh, Bruce, if that’s true then you _have to_ let me tie you up and sexually torture you until you pass out!  You’ll love it!”

“You’re crazy.”

“That’s been established,” Tony replied.  “But, seriously, why not?  I care about you,” he whined.

Bruce’s cheeks burned.  “Uh…I’m not sure it works exactly like that.”  They were quiet for a moment until Bruce said, “You could do something to prove it to me.”

“Name it and it’s yours,” Tony said adamantly.

“Teach me about the arc reactor,” Bruce said, “and I’ll let you teach me whatever you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments! They help so much!


	6. Chapter 6: Between Trust and Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony knows you have to give a little to get anything in return.

So, Bruce was going to play dirty—which, to Tony, was not entirely unacceptable because that meant the Bruce was willing to play at all.

But, still, asking directly about the arc reactor took a lot of guts.  Tony was still looking for the intestinal fortitude to formulate a response, so he could just imagine what it took Bruce to voice the proposal.

And then Bruce smirked and turned away as if Tony’s silence effectively ended the conversation.  Which, Tony supposed, it did.  But that _smirk_ got to him.  As if the guy knew that he was going to be shot down.

Which made Tony think, maybe, Bruce wasn’t playing after all.

“Where do we start, Doc?” Tony asked, his voice a little too loud from channeling nervous energy into bravado. 

Bruce froze in mid-turn, suddenly awkward.  Tony relaxed.  He had the upper hand again, back on familiar ground. 

“Start with what?” Bruce asked, all innocence and wide eyes behind his glasses.

“Don’t you start that Bambi-eyed crap with me,” Tony said.  “Do you want to show me yours first, or shall I show you mine?”

Now it was Bruce’s turn to fall silent.  The corners of his mouth fell into an uneasy frown, and his gaze flicked downwards and to the left to fixate on the floor.  He was scared and nervous.  Because of Tony.  That had to be fixed immediately.

Tony held out his hand.  “JARVIS, give me the Mark I specs.”  The files appeared as a hologram in Tony’s palm, glowing translucent aqua and white.  He cupped in his hands around it like a child holding a butterfly.  “Here,” he said, holding it out to Bruce.  “Might as well start at the beginning.  Well, not the very beginning.  It’s not a fucking car battery.”

Bruce took it, carefully, like it might slip away.  The blue light gleamed between his fingertips, and Tony thought for a second that it looked like he was holding the actual arc reactor.  Bruce glanced at him quickly before opening his hands and allowing the hologram to expand and fill up the space in front of him.  Tony forced himself to sit back against the couch, rolling his shoulders to make them relax as he watched Bruce examine the plans.  Tony felt his phone buzz in his pocket and fished it out.

“Sir, does Doctor Banner earn upgraded security clearance?” JARVIS’s text appeared on the screen.

Tony texted back, “Should he?”

“Yes, Sir.  I believe he should.”

“Ok.  Stop texting.  You’re not a 15 year old girl.”

“Does that mean I cannot ask Doctor Banner to the prom?”

Tony shoved the phone back into his pocket and glared at JARVIS’s nearest camera.  He turned his attention back to Bruce, who was looking at the housing schematics, paying close attention to the base plate.  That was odd.  Tony thought that he would have gone straight for the reactor core, not the casing.

“Like what you see, Doc?” Tony asked.

Bruce jumped a little.  “Uh, pretty amazing.  I have to admit, I can read the schematics, but I don’t really understand them.  Actually, I’m more interested in how you’re able to move your arms at all if this goes as deep as I think it does.”  He took off his glasses and folded them as he leaned back against the couch.  “Tony,” he said, voice gentle, “when’s the last time you saw a doctor?”

Tony didn’t like the way this conversation had turned.  Really, he thought Banner was after his tech.  Who wouldn’t be?  Tech is bright and shiny and sexy.  Three-inch holes in your sternum?  Not so sexy.  But he was trying to get Bruce to trust, and trust took sacrifice. 

“After Afghanistan.  Rhodie’s medics set my arm and cleaned me up a bit.  They couldn’t really do anything for, well, you know.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“And I saw a cardiac surgeon about the shrapnel, but they didn’t want to mess with it, either.”

Bruce leaned forward and looked over the casing again.  “By now, I don’t think you could take the reactor out without causing more damage than just leaving it there.  Unless you can engineer a sternum.”

“I’ve got a pretty kick-ass 3D printer in the office,” Tony said.  Bruce chuckled, and Tony felt the pressure in his chest ease.

Bruce waved his hand to collapse the hologram and sat back with a sigh. He opened his mouth to speak, but Tony cut him off.

“Hey, you don’t have to do anything in return.  I would have shown you anyway, if you had asked in a different context, so don’t think you owe me anything.”

Bruce deflated a little against the back of the couch. “Well, it was my idea, and you did your part.”

“No, I didn’t.  You asked me to teach you about the arc reactor.  I just showed you the first model.  You said you didn’t understand the schematics, so you don’t know anything about it now that you didn’t before.” Bruce sighed and rubbed his eyes.  “Think about it,” Tony said after a moment’s pause.  “If you want to try, come up to my room tonight.  If you don’t show, then fine, I’ll just go to sleep and I’ll see you at breakfast.  You can come late, leave early, whatever you want to do.  But think about it first, ok, Big Guy?”

Bruce looked increasingly thoughtful, but grimaced at the nickname.  “Can we leave him out of this, please?”

“For now.  Jolly Green.”

“Tony…”

“Sorry, Lima Bean.”

“Stark!”

“Ok, forget it.  No more nicknames, Brucie.”

Bruce nodded, victorious, as though he had won.

****

After flying a nuke through an inter-dimensional portal, not much truly shocked Tony anymore.  But he was undoubtedly stunned when JARVIS announced that Bruce was on his way up to the penthouse.  A few seconds’ worth scrambling later, Tony was sitting on the couch in the sunken living room, a perfect imitation of nonchalance.  Even though it was spring, he had a fire going in the gas fireplace to give the room a warm glow.  He hoped Bruce couldn’t sense tell how many anxious hours he had spent waiting, or the amount of alcohol already in his bloodstream.  He wasn’t drunk, really, but Bruce and booze just didn’t…mix…well. 

The elevator dinged open to reveal Bruce, looking shy and a little lost as he wandered into the penthouse.  His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans.  “Hi,” he said softly.

“Hey there Bruce,” Tony answered. “I’m kind of surprised you came.”

Bruce looked away, and Tony wanted to reach out and trap his head in his hands, to force Bruce to look him in the eyes so that he could prove that he wouldn’t spontaneously combust from shame.  But he forced himself still.

“I’m kind of surprised, too,” Bruce said after a long moment.

Tony stood up suddenly, and Bruce took a step back.  “Hey, I’m being rude,” Tony said.  “Do you want a drink or something?”

“No, I’m ok, thanks,” Bruce answered.

Tony didn’t know why he felt so off-center.  True, he hadn’t expected Bruce to show, but he had _planned_ for Bruce to show.  He had several plans, actually, including escape plans.  But now that he had Bruce in front of him, he couldn’t think of what he had wanted to do.

So, he sat down again and motioned for Bruce to do the same.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Bruce stated matter-of-factly.

Tony shrugged.  “That’s ok.  No matter what, we’re friends here.  It’s ok to say that you’re not sure of what you’re feeling or you don’t know how to process something.  I’ve been there.  I’ll understand.”

Bruce let his breath out in a whoosh.  Tony hadn’t even noticed that he was holding it—that was a bad sign.

“Thanks for saying that out loud,” Bruce said.  He managed to look into Tony’s eyes for more than a split-second.  “Ok, I think I’m ready.”

Tony’s eyebrows shot up.  Bruce really _didn’t_ know what he was doing.  “As much as I would like to jump straight into your pants, Doctor, we have to discuss limits.”

“Uh…we’re pushing my limits right now, if you want to know.”

Tony chuckled.  “Point taken.  Ok, we’ll go really slowly.”

“Glacial.”

“Like, five degrees Kelvin.  What’s your safeword?”

Wide, chocolate-brown eyes looked sidelong at Tony.  “I’ve never…I don’t really know what you’re talking about,” Bruce admitted. 

“It’s what you say to make everything stop.  Some people have specific words they like to use; other people go with the standard green-yellow-red.”

Bruce’s eyes fell back to the floor as he thought.  “Let’s do whatever you’re used to.”

“Ok.  I’ll ask you for a color when I need to know how you’re doing. Green is ‘keep going,’ yellow is ‘getting close to a limit,’ and red means ‘stop immediately.’  And I _will_ stop.  It’s never too late to change your mind, no matter what, and you don’t ever have to explain yourself.  I’ll never push you to talk about something if you don’t want to.”

Bruce nodded silently, and Tony caught a glimpse of tears in his eyes.  Bruce was not overtly sentimental, and most dark moments were smoothed over with sardonic wit.  Tears were out of character for the stoic physicist.

Tony slowly lowered himself to the floor, knelt in front of Bruce, and took his hands.  His engineer’s hands were paler and finer, than the doctor’s, though calloused from burns and blisters; Bruce’s hands were darker, broader, warmer, and Tony felt the blood beneath his fingers tremble as he rubbed the pads of his thumbs over the pulse points of his wrist.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Tony promised.

Bruce nodded again, still clammed up.  Communication was vital, Tony knew better than most, and he had to get Bruce talking.

“I want to hear you say it,” Tony urged.  “I need to know you understand.”

Bruce licked his lips and swallowed.  “You are not going to hurt me.”   His mouth opened again and snapped shut.

“It’s ok.  Say whatever you want,” Tony said firmly.

“Uh…do you…want me to call you…something different?”

Tony paused. “I’ll always be Tony for you.  How do you feel about names?  Or do you want to always be Bruce?”

Bruce shook his head. “No…I don’t think I want to always be Bruce.  But maybe sometimes.”

“Ok,” Tony said turning his attention back to Bruce’s hands.  He unbuttoned the cuffs to Bruce’s blue dress shirt and pushed them up his arms.  Bruce stiffened, but he didn’t try to move away.  Tony traced his fingers around the edges of the gold watch band; he was wearing the Stark Glasses, too, and Tony felt warmth spread through his chest in response.  “How is this working out for you?  Anything need recalibration?”

Bruce smiled, and his shoulders relaxed a fraction.  “It works beautifully.  I didn’t realize how annoying that beeping really was until it was gone.”  His smile turned rueful.  “Was the beeping bothering you, too?”

“Nah, I only really stress you out in the garage or the lab, and the music’s too loud to hear anything.”

Bruce relaxed a little more, so Tony dared to run his fingers under the band, smoothing the skin underneath.  He could hear Bruce’s breathing grow deeper and even out and he slowly stroked his wrist in time.  Slowly, the tension eased from Bruce’s body.

They sat there for long enough that Tony’s foot, folded under his weight, started to fall asleep.  He moved his hips over to the side, but the sudden shift broke the spell and Bruce startled, flinching away.

“Oh, hey, I’m sorry,” Bruce said, tense once again.

Tony folded his legs into a more even position.  “Come down here with me?” 

Bruce ran a hand through his hair, but he nodded and slid so he sat with his back against the couch. 

“When someone reaches out to you unexpectedly, is your first instinct that you’re going to be hit?” Tony continued.

Bruce winced.  “Is it that obvious?”

“No.  I’ve read your file.  I’ve been looking for it.  So I’m guessing that you’re not the type that would go for whips and riding crops?”

“Uh…I really don’t think so.  Are you?” Bruce asked, curiosity coloring his tone.  Tony approved of that far more that the doubtful stutter.

“In the right hands,” he answered.  “How about handcuffs?  Or gags and blindfolds?”

Bruce chewed his lip for a moment.  “I can get out of handcuffs pretty quickly, so that’s probably ok.  I don’t think I could handle all that at once, though.  But, Tony, I uh…I…”

“It’s pretty hard to make this conversation any more awkward.  You might as well spit it out.”

“I’ve never had sex with anyone other than Betty,” Bruce said all in one rush.  “And even then, it was a long time ago.”

Tony smiled, and let the smile reach his eyes and crinkle the corners.  “I figured as much. And, hey, we don’t have to go that far, or we can take our sweet time getting there.  I’m learning patience in my old age.  Or I will.  Eventually.”

Bruce smiled in return.  Victory! thought Tony.  He even allowed Tony to reach up and slip the glasses from his face, and he put them on himself.  He could see the little heart in the corner of the glasses, monitoring Bruce through the watch. “I do like to be in charge, though,” Tony said, quirking an eyebrow.

“I’ve noticed,” Bruce’s quirked his own eyebrow in a mirror image of Tony.

“So I need you to trust me; but I also need to trust that you’ll let me know when you need to slow down or stop.  You’re going to lay down here.  I’m going to touch you and you’re going to tell me when I need to stop.  I know it feels strange, and I don’t expect this to get very far, so you have nothing to prove.  This is an exercise in control.”

“Control?” Bruce asked, breathing already a little shaky.

“Yeah.  You give it to me, but it goes right back to you. Like electricity flowing between terminals, positive and negative. ”

“Positive and negative…ok…I’m ok with that.”

After grabbing a pillow from the couch, Tony had Bruce lay down in the plush carpet.  He didn’t direct Bruce into a position, instead allowing him to settle on his own.  Bruce bunched the pillow up into his arms and settled down on his stomach, head turned to the side so he could keep Tony in his sight.

“Good, that’s good,” Tony murmured.  Praise was important, he reminded himself.  Oh yes, with Bruce praise was going to be important.

He went back to Bruce’s hand, gently drawing it out from where it was stuffed under the pillow and straightening his arm so it could lay palm-up by his side.  Once upon a time, Tony dated a massage therapist (for far longer than he should have because she was just that damn good) and he remembered quite a bit of what he learned from her.  He started at Bruce’s palm, using his thumbs to rub firm circles over the pressure points before moving onto his fingers, massaging each joint before gently tugging on the end.  The monitor reported only a slight elevation in heart rate.

“How are you doing?” Tony asked, looking in Bruce’s eyes.  They were heavy-lidded, but still acutely aware.

“Green,” Bruce murmured. 

“Good,” Tony answered.

Tony moved onto his arm, pushing his sleeve up as far as it would go so he could brush his fingertips along the pale skin between his wrist and his elbow.  Bruce shivered, and his heart rate jumped a little, though not nearly enough to be dangerous.  Tony continued until the shivers stopped.  Bruce’s eyes had closed at some point, so Tony allowed himself to bend down and press a kiss against the pulse of Bruce’s wrist.  His beard scratched and pulled the soft skin there, but he did not think it would be particularly uncomfortable.  Still, Bruce’s eyes flew open and his heart rate spiked.

“Yellow,” he whispered.

Tony drew back a bit and returned to soft stroking.  “Good boy,” he said, and he meant it.  “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do.”

“It’s not rocket science,” Bruce mumbled into the carpet.

Tony chuckled.  “No, dealing with feelings is far more difficult than rockets.  Those are meant to go boom.  People generally aren’t.”

“Do you do this a lot?” Bruce asked, voice soft with hesitation.

“No.  Not anymore.  I did spend a long time being young and rich and bored, so, y’know, I did…things…with…people.  I guess you could say a lot.  How do you define ‘a lot’?”

“I think that’s a ‘yes.’”

“Hush, you.  You’re supposed to be totally relaxed, Zen-ed out.”

“Is that the goal?”  Bruce asked. 

“Yes, actually.  It takes practice, but sometimes you can fall away from reality into a place of total peace and calm.  But it takes a lot of trust.  I can’t really get there, myself, but I’ve come close a few times.  Do you feel better?”

Bruce nodded and said, “green,” as an afterthought.

Moving on, Tony cupped the back of Bruce’s neck, kneading gently before moving his hands to his hair.  “I’ve wanted to do this since I first saw you,” Tony admitted as he ran his fingers through the soft, grey-brown curls.  “I didn’t think I would get the chance.”

“I thought Tony Stark just takes what he wants?”

“No, not like this.  I’ll buy it if it’s for sale, but…well, most things that can be bought aren’t worth much anyway.” 

Bruce fell quiet as Tony lightly scratched his scalp.   After a few moments, he seemed to drift off again, eyes half-closed as he dozed or lost himself in thought.  The only sounds in the room were the occasional crackle of the fire place and the two men’s rhythmic breathing.

Tony traced his fingers lightly down Bruce’s temple, following his jaw line.  The muscles under Bruce’s eye twitched a fraction and his breathing hitched, but his heart rate stayed steady.

“You are so good,” Tony murmured, afraid that if he was too loud he would ruin the moment.  He moved to Bruce’s collar bone, just barely visible under the open collar of his shirt.  “So beautiful, and kind, and--“

“Yellow,” Bruce whispered.

Tony slowly took his hand away from Bruce’s neck and lightly placed his hand over Bruce’s instead, back where he began.  “You’re ok,” Tony soothed, rubbing small circles on his palm.  “You’re stronger than any of us, you know.”

“Red!” Bruce gasped, pushing away Tony’s hands and curling up tightly around the pillow, on his side so his back was to his friend.  He buried his face into the velvet cushion and Tony heard a single broken sob escape.

Whoa.  He just broke Bruce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left comments. I really appreciate the time you spend giving feedback!


	7. Chapter 7: Research and Development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Bruce was asked to help with some "research and development" this is not exactly what he expected.

Chapter 7: Research and Development

Bruce couldn’t stop the gasping, horrid weeping once it started.  The floodgate was open, and he didn’t know how to close it again.  All he could do was hold on and hope he ran out of tears soon.  The pillow under his face was sodden, but he pressed deeply into it to muffle his cries.  It made it hard to inhale, but when he did, the toasted-coconut-Tony scent filled his mouth and nose, giving him something on which to focus.

A thick microfiber blanket was draped over him.  That was better. He felt less exposed and vulnerable that way.  But he didn’t open his eyes or relinquish his hold on the pillow.

He didn’t even know what he was really crying about.  Tony had been gentle, and the feather-light touches felt so _good_ , electrifying the nerves from the surface of his skin all the way up his spine.  He couldn’t remember ever being touched that way; he couldn’t imagine that a simple stroke on his arm could feel so sensual.

But then Tony opened his big damn mouth and started saying that _he_ was good, and everything collapsed in on itself like a house of cards.  It felt like a lie.  His suspension of disbelief was shattered, and with it went his illusions that he could be worth something, seen as valuable, that someone would be willing to pay the price of caring about him.

He was so stupid.

Eventually, his tears were exhausted.  He opened his eyes to see a mug of tea, steam curling lazily, on a tray sitting on the shag carpet.  When had Tony put that there? 

Bruce sat up, pulling the blanket around his shoulders before reaching out for the tea.  He was thirsty and his throat was raw, and the tea was exactly what he wanted.  He took a long sip to give himself time to calm his racing thoughts before he turned to face Tony.

The engineer sat on the floor still, in the same position he had been in when Bruce had freaked out, his legs folded gracefully under him, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees.  Those intense espresso eyes studied Bruce with quiet concern.

“Hey, Buddy.  You are one sensitive little snowflake, huh?” Tony said.

“I can’t believe I flipped out so much,” Bruce replied.  All at once, Bruce realized how dangerous it had been for Tony to stay in the room when he was so emotionally unstable.  Flashes of green, of crumbling concrete, steel, and blood passed across his vision.  “You should have run away!” he said in dismay.  “I could have hurt you!”

Tony shook his head and tapped the glasses he was still wearing.  “You never came close.”  He took off the Stark Glasses and scooted forward so he could put them back on Bruce’s face.  “Here, see for yourself.”  JARVIS projected a graph of his heart rate over the past hour, and the line stayed well below the 200 bpm threshold.

Bruce sighed, half in frustration and half in relief.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Tony prompted.

“I…don’t think I can right now.”  His emotions and thoughts were far too jumbled together to separate into coherent sentences.  “I was ok for a while, then suddenly I wasn’t.”

“Yup, that sounds about right.  That’s fine.  We can work with that,” Tony said as he reached to sort out Bruce’s shirt.  The sleeves were a rumpled mess, and his collar was pulled askew.  Tony buttoned him back up and straightened him out as much as he could.  Bruce was too tired to fight it.  So many years had passes since he last broke down like that; paired with the nerve it took to come to Stark’s room to begin with, he was emotionally exhausted. 

“That went a lot better than I thought it would,” Tony continued.  “But you look like you’re done for the night.  Let’s get you to bed, Snowflake.”

“I know the way,” Bruce said, levering himself to his feet.

Tony rose with him.  “That’s not the point.  I’m not going to sleep if I don’t know you’re ok.”

Warmth flushed through Bruce’s chest.  “You hardly sleep anyway.  But ok, yeah.  I’m tired.  Bed.”

Tony put his arm around Bruce’s shoulders, guiding him towards the elevator.  “And then tomorrow, you’re assembling the reactor for the new suit.”

****

The newly installed arc reactor glowed through the white rag as Bruce polished the last of his fingerprints away.  It had taken him all morning, afternoon, past dinner and into the night to finish assembling and installing the reactor for Tony’s newest suit, the Mark XVII.  The torso, arms, and helmet of the armor hung suspended from its chains where Bruce could easily access the center panels, though the lower half was yet to be connected.

Tony sat hunched on a garage stool, the computer on the workbench spewing dozens of wires connected to the servos arrayed on the bench.  He was coding, attention consumed by strings of numbers and variables, eyes flicking between the screen and the tiny motors.  He had been in the same spot for most of the day, running simulations and fixing code as he talked Bruce through the arc reactor.  Sure, Tony had invented the reactor, but Bruce was still amazed by his ability to troubleshoot a problem from Bruce’s barest description without even sparing it a glance.  And he was amazingly tolerant of Bruce’s questions and mistakes.

Bruce stepped back and absently sucked on the burns on the ends of his fingers as he surveyed his handiwork.  The reactor in this suit was nearly twice the size of any of the previous models, which made it easier for Bruce to manipulate the parts (though he sort of felt like he was playing with the big playschool Legos).   But the larger reactor was necessary to power the heavy artillery load and compensate for the extra weight the suit would eventually carry. The shoulders were heavy with extra plating, and the chest plate was reinforced with solid crossbars that wrapped around the ribs on the bottom.   But, though the suit had the potential to be a cumbersome beast, Tony was nothing if not an artist.  The extra supports conformed in smooth curves to the shell underneath, and every corner of the bulky armor met in a streamlined curve with a strangely austere grace.  The helmet already had its paint job, gunmetal gray highlighting the signature red and gold.  This was, Bruce thought, the most beautiful suit yet. 

A slow sigh escaped him as he reached up lay his hand along the helmet’s cheek. “You are going to be quite the heart breaker,” he told the half-finished suit.

Bruce turned to see Tony looking at him, chin resting in his hands as a fond smile crossed his lips before he spun around again, typing furiously once more.   He wiped his hands on a rag and leaned against the workbench, watching the flurry of activity on Tony’s screen.

“I don’t know how you do this for days at a time,” he said, examining his burned fingertips.   “I’m exhausted.”

Tony tapped a few final keys before leaning back on the stool, arching his back like a cat. “Well, that doesn’t usually take…how long have we been down here?”

“Sixteen hours and five minutes,” JARVIS replied.

“Well, it shouldn’t take that long, but first times and all…gotta go slow or risk getting hurt.”

Bruce could feel a blush creeping up his face.  “I’ll do better next time,” he promised.

A strange expression crossed Tony’s face, and he folded his arms across his chest.  After giving Bruce a long look he said, “You did great this time.  Why are you apologizing?”

Bruce’s face burned.  “It took all day.  I wasted a lot of your time.”

“I wasn’t aware we were on a schedule.  I don’t pay attention to other people’s deadlines, so I try not to be a hypocrite by creating them myself.”

Bruce couldn’t help his chuckle.  He didn’t really believe that the billionaire didn’t put a price on his time, but he supposed it was all right because Tony had managed to get a lot of work done, too.

Tony stood and kicked the stool towards the corner.  He stretched before holding his hand out to Bruce.  “Ok, your turn again,” Tony announced.

“Right now?” Bruce asked, startled.  He was tired and his control was already worn thin from the countless frustrations and setbacks of the day. A good, long shower and some quiet meditation were about all he could handle.

Tony grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the sitting area.  “Yes, right now,” he replied.  “This can’t wait.”

He was maneuvered over to the rug where Tony pressed on his shoulder, urging him to his knees.  He could feel his heart speed up, but he had left his Stark Glasses on the workbench where he had switched them for safety goggles. 

“Tony, my glasses,” he said, pointing to them.

Tony nodded.  “Ok, I’ll get them.  But first, close your eyes.  The only thing you have to do is stay right here on your knees with your eyes closed until I tell you to move.”

Bruce gave Tony a dubious look before shutting his eyes.  “Can I ask why?”

“You can always ask. Because I’m doing research.  Because I told you to.  Because I want you to.”

‘Because I want you to.’ With those words, all suspicion and doubt fled for just long enough for Bruce to have a moment of clarity.  Tony wanted him there, and that was reason enough.  The razor-sharp balance between worthy and worthless didn’t matter.  All that counted was that Tony wanted him there, and Tony was _good_ , so this must be _good_ , too.

He felt Tony move away from him and cross over to the other side of the shop, presumably to get his glasses.  He felt a little better knowing that he had that small safeguard in hand.  He could feel body heat as Tony stood in front of Bruce, towering over him, and he felt so small that he had to resist the urge to find a place to hide.  Just Tony, Bruce reminded himself, it’s just Tony.

A hand fisted in his hair and jerked his head back, not enough to hurt, but it startled him. He gasped and blushed a fierce red when it came out as a strangled moan.  The hand relaxed, though the fingers stayed tangled in his curls.  He could smell engine oil and sweat and hear Tony’s breathing turn a little ragged.

“You did a perfect job today,” Tony said quietly.  “No one in the world can replicate the arc reactor.  No one.  And you just made one in less than 18 hours, including the time it took you to make us sandwiches, which were awesome.”

Bruce’s throat tightened and he tried to swallow, but it stuck.  He just wanted to go to bed.  He didn’t need Tony to tell him he wasn’t a failure.  He wasn’t _that_ fragile.  And, really, it didn’t matter because Bruce knew it would just be a matter of time before he made one little mistake and everything came crashing down again.  He felt sick.

“Yellow.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Tony said, sounding tired all of a sudden. 

Tony’s joints popped as he lowered himself down onto his knees so he was on the same level as Bruce.  Bruce wanted to open his eyes, and maybe they fluttered a little because Tony brushed his thumbs over his eyelids.  “No, keep them closed.” His voice was quiet, and very close.  “It’s ok. I’ll tell you when to move.”

He felt a warm, rough hand along his cheek, not moving, just applying light pressure.  That felt fine.  A little close, a little intimate, but nothing too strange.  After a few seconds, the hand was removed and the top of his shirt was unbuttoned and pushed down.  The touch returned, on his clavicle this time, tracing from the center of his throat to his shoulder. Goosebumps blossomed up his back and down his arm and he shuddered.

“Color?” Tony sounded as if he was right in his ear.

“Green.”

“Hold still,” Tony said.  “I’m not going to hurt you.  Say it.”

“You’re not going to hurt me,” Bruce whispered.

“Good boy.”

There were fingers on his lips then, trailing the taste of Lava soap, and Bruce’s world narrowed to the electric tingle of skin on too-sensitive skin.  He had to take a breath deep into his diaphragm, and he knew Tony could feel him exhale.  The hand moved so it cupped his face again.

“You have no idea how brilliant you are,” Tony said, barely above a whisper.

Not when it counts, Bruce thought.  His jaw tightened automatically, but Tony must have felt it because he massaged the tense muscle with his fingertips.  “Relax,” Tony said.  “Everything anyone has ever told you…it’s all lies.  All of it.  They don’t want you to know how remarkable you are.  They want you to think you’re stupid, that you’re a screw-up, that you’re nothing because they know you’re so much better than them that they could never stop you.  The only one who can stop you is yourself.”

“Yellow,” Bruce whispered.  This was too much, too much.  Tony shouldn’t say such things.

“Wait, you need to hear this.  They think you’re dangerous, and you totally are.  But, they think you’re dangerous for all the wrong reasons.  Ok, open your eyes.  I’m done.”

Opening his eyes felt like coming out of a long, dark tunnel from another dimension.  Tony’s face was right in front of him, looking sad and wan.  “You’re going to believe me one day,” he assured. 

The shop slowly came into focus.  The lights were dimmed, so the steady blue glow of the Mark XVII and the computer screen lit the shadowy end.  Tony pulled himself to his feet and held a hand out for Bruce.  He had to be steadied for a moment before he could move.  Tony clapped him on the back.

“How you doin’, Doc?” Tony asked.

“I have to admit, I was a little nervous when you put me on my knees…that was…not what I was expecting.”

Tony’s eyes crinkled when he smiled.  “Nah, I’ll know when you’re ready for that.”

Bruce snatched the glasses off Tony’s nose and put them back on.  He gave Tony a hard look over the rims.  “And how are you going to be able to tell?”

“Easy.  I’m gonna wait until you beg for it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who takes the time to review!


	8. Chapter 8: Project Snowflake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony learns the hard way that what is seen cannot be unseen.

Bruce insisted that he could make it upstairs to his room without Tony’s help this time, thank you very much.  So Tony let him go, with only the barest swat on the ass on the way out.  Bruce huffed, but otherwise ignored it.

“Still awake, JARVIS?” Tony called after he was sure Bruce wasn’t returning.

“For you, Sir, I can go all night.”

“That’s my boy!”  Tony fetched his garage stool from where it had been kicked in the corner.  “Put on the coffee and open a new project file on my personal server.  High security.”

“Sir, what shall the file designation be?”

“Project Snowflake.”

“Very intimidating, Sir. “

“This isn’t a new suit of armor, J.”  Tony wheeled himself over to the center of his hologram array.  “This is for Bruce.  We have the SHIELD files, but we need older mental health records, see how far back this goes, what kind of research we need to do.  But open those so we can see where to start.”

JARVIS brought up all the SHIELD files they currently had, but Tony started throwing most of them away as irrelevant, flipping the virtual pages with his fingers almost as fast as JARVIS displayed them.  Then, suddenly, he was face-to-face with a photograph of General Ross.

“Bring up the Hulkbuster files.”

JARVIS complied but added, “Sir, the information in these files is related only to the Hulk and not to Doctor Banner.  Otherwise, I do not believe that you would have participated in the project.”

That’s damn right, Tony thought.  True, he had designed weapons for the Hulkbuster Project, but he didn’t know that there was a _person_ inside the monster…or vice versa or whatever.  He didn’t know that Hulk equals Bruce equals Hulk.  And at the time, it was just another government paycheck.

But if he had known about Bruce at the time—if he had known about the sweet, funny, and oh so very smart scientist inside—he would have seized their servers like a mugger in a seedy alley and robbed them blind of information before wiping them clean.

“JARVIS, how quickly can you find a backdoor to Ross’s servers?  He’s trying to recreate the Hulk.  He must have something on Bruce we can use: medical records and psych evaluations…stuff like that.”

“Faster than you can, Sir.”

“Those are fightin’ words.  I’ll take that bet, but if I win, you have to call Bruce ‘Doctor Sweetcheeks’ for an entire day.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Sir.”

****

There was, Tony mused hours later, absolutely no winner here.

Oh, he had found the files (well, technically JARVIS did get there first) but there was no way he was prepared for what he found.  They were so innocently named, strings of numbers and letters with no real meaning behind them, just a systematic filing designation.  There was no hint, no foreshadowing, no warning.

But there was blood.  And pain.  And Bruce, strapped to a lab table on a video feed, eyes glazed, mouth moving without making a sound.  Tony was thankful that he couldn’t read lips.  A man in a white coat stood on the other side of a clear partition, scribbling frantically on a clipboard, but Bruce was pushed past awareness, head lolling on the hard metal table as his lips repeated their silent litany.

And, then, Bruce’s body convulsed as the table was electrified, head smacking hard on the steel, back arching into the restraints.  Over and over.

Tony barely made it to the waste bin before throwing up. Not much came up except foamy stomach acid, but his stomach continued to heave.

That was the first file.  There were 75.

“Sir, do you require assistance?”

“No!  No!  Don’t let anyone down here.  Take the files.  Take all of them, don’t leave anything behind.  Don’t leave that bastard anything!”

“Sir, they will notice that much data missing, and the list of people who can accomplish that task is fairly short.”

“Fuck them.  Fuck it.  Leave them a post-it that says ‘Tony Stark was here’ in big, bold Sharpie.”

“Would you like that in traditional yellow, or your more signature gold?”

“JARVIS, we have to do something about this,” Tony said, hauling himself back onto his garage stool. “Where’s Banner now?”

“Doctor Banner is sleeping in his bedroom.  Sir, may I point out that you _are_ doing something about this.”

Tony looked up at the file list again, the column of 75 innocuous combinations of numbers and letters.  A morbid curiosity seized him, but at the same time he couldn’t bear to watch another second.   “JARVIS, hide it.  All of it.  I don’t want anyone but me to be able to access this.  Not ever.”

“And Doctor Banner, Sir?”

“Not right now. I’ll ask him what he wants to do with the files later, but…not now.”

“Very well, Sir.”

Tony scrubbed his face with his hands.  The urge to barge into Bruce’s room to make sure he was there and still breathing nearly overwhelmed him.   

Twice.  Bruce had been caught by Ross twice.

The first time, Bruce simply disappeared.  Another, unrelated emergency at the other end of the compound drew the attention of the base, and when they returned, he had vanished.  According to the records, Ross had most of the soldiers, guards, and doctors dishonorably discharged in retribution.

The second time, the Hulk escaped.  Messily.

“JARVIS, where’s Bruce.”

“Still sleeping, Sir.  Just as he was ten minutes ago.”

“Ok,” Tony replied.  He could feel the creeping tendrils of anxiety try to wrap themselves around his arc reactor and he bent over so his head was between his knees.  “What do I do, JARVIS?” he moaned.

“Sir, you have never before moderated your eccentric behavior around guests.  Why start now?”

“So, it wouldn’t be creepy of me to sneak into Bruce’s apartment and watch him sleep?”

“Yes, Sir, that is creepy.  But you shouldn’t let that stop you.”

So Tony crept as quietly as he could into Bruce’s rooms, with JARVIS overriding the electronic locks so he didn’t have to knock.  He stubbed his toe once, and congratulated himself on not crying out.  But, still, Bruce stirred and sat straight up as soon as Tony opened the bedroom door.

“What the hell—Tony?” Bruce said, rubbing his eyes hard.  “Scaring me in the middle of the night is _not_ a good idea!  Lights please, JARVIS.”  Bruce’s tone changed when he saw Tony in the light.  “Tony, what’s wrong?”

“I…had a nightmare,” Tony’s voice faltered.  The naked concern in Bruce’s eyes disarmed him and he found himself trembling.

“You don’t want to be alone?”

“I can sleep on the couch,” Tony mumbled, suddenly feeling embarrassed now that he could see that Bruce was just fine, still breathing, safe under his roof.  “Or, never mind.  I’ll go to bed.”

“If you want to.  But you can sleep here if you like.  The bed’s pretty big.”  Bruce flipped back the covers to accentuate his point.  He was wearing pajamas—actual pajamas with flannel pants and a matching top—and his curls were a wild mess.  Really, Tony wanted nothing more than to jump into bed with the rumpled scientist and just hold him.  Or bugger him silly.  Or bugger him silly then hold him.

Bruce frowned.  “I understand, Tony.  I get nightmares all the time, too.”

And then the sight of Bruce, convulsing and bleeding on a lab table flashed in front of his eyes, and before he knew it, he was toeing off his shoes and socks and crawling under the covers.  “Did you fall asleep in the lab?” Bruce asked as he smoothed the sheets over them and JARVIS turned the lights back down.  “You’re still in your jeans.”

“Yeah,” Tony said.  He felt much better, surrounded by Bruce’s scent and body heat infusing the sheets, but his voice still wavered.

“Hey,” Bruce said in a firm voice that sounded loud in the dark.  He turned so he was face-to-face with Tony.  “I’m not going to let anything hurt you.  Me and the Other Guy…we don’t agree on much, but we agree on that.”

And Bruce’s eyes gleamed a startling green that Tony could see even with the lights out.  It sent a thrill, a sharp spike of adrenaline, through his body and he reminded himself that Bruce was safe here and he was safe here with Bruce.

Tony’s heart raced too quickly for him to settle down, and he could feel the sweat collect on the back of his neck.  Bruce must have noticed, too, because he peeled back the upper layer of blankets, both giving Tony some air and uncovering the clear light of the arc reactor.  The light was cold, and threw strange shadows across the room, but it was comforting nonetheless.

“We don’t have to sleep,” Bruce said.  “Just lay still and let your body rest for now, even if you mind doesn’t want to.  When your thoughts go somewhere you don’t want to go, just breathe as deeply as you can and focus on feeling the air entering and leaving your lungs.   You’ll feel better.”

Tony took a deep breath—well, not too deep.  Laying on his side and breathing was a bit difficult, so he flopped over onto his back.   The new position worked better and he could breathe without feeling rounded edges of metal pressing into soft tissue.

“You know you’re mine, right?”  Tony heard his own voice whispering into the shadows.

“Your what?” Bruce propped himself up on an elbow so he could see Tony’s face.

“Mine.  My stuff.”

Bruce lowered himself down again.  “Don’t try to microchip me in my sleep, ok?  That’s not going to work out for both of us.”

“I’m not going to let anyone take you away from me.”  Well, he sounded like a creeper, Tony decided as soon as it left his mouth.

But Bruce heard more than the words, and Tony heard his breath catch.  “What ghosts did you see tonight?”

Yours, thought Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much to the people who take the time to write comments, especially those of you who are so kind to comment regularly.


	9. Chapter 9: Blueberry Pancakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve thinks Bruce needs to remember what sunlight looks like.

Daylight streamed in through the windows by the time Bruce opened his eyes the next morning. Someone next to him was breathing, wheezing slightly on the inhale and he was surprised to turn his head and see Tony sprawled on his back next to him and sleeping deeply.  Tony had finally dropped off only a few hours before, but Bruce did not expect him to be there when he woke.  He slid out of bed, distributing his weight as evenly as he could to keep from disturbing the exhausted engineer’s sleep. 

By the position of the sun on the horizon, Bruce guessed that it was barely past dawn.  He felt well-rested, as if he had slept for much longer than he actually had.  But he was also hungry.  A brief forage showed that the cupboards of his little kitchen were bare except for some spices and teas, and he had not been shopping for perishables since he started assisting Tony in the shop.  There was always food in the common area since Steve lived here full-time now, and Clint and Natasha came and went as they pleased.  Breakfast was definitely in order, and the sun was bright enough that he didn’t worry about Tony waking up alone.  Still, he scribbled a quick note on his StarkPad and left it beside him on the bed before taking the elevator to the communal kitchen.  Hopefully, Tony would stay asleep long enough for him to make breakfast and bring it back.

Bruce entered the massive kitchen on the Avengers’ common floor to find Steve sitting at the center island, lacing up his running shoes. 

“Bruce?” Steve asked, seemingly surprised to see him.

“Uh…Good morning, Steve,” Bruce replied.  He made a bee-line for the stainless steel refrigerator and started rifling through the vegetable drawer. 

“I thought you went to that…conference…thing in California with Tony,” Steve said.  “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”

Bruce pulled his head out of the fridge to give Steve a bewildered look.  “Tony and I are both here.  I haven’t heard about a conference or anything.”

“Oh,” Steve said.  “It’s just that I haven’t seen either of you for nearly a week.  I thought you went out of town, and I remember Tony saying that there was something going on in California soon, so I figured that’s where you were.”

Bruce shook his head.  “No, we’ve been in the Tower the whole time.”  He went back to the fridge.  He pulled out eggs and leftover ham for Tony, but what little produce that was left was past its prime and soggy.  He tossed the poor vegetables in the trash.

“You know, there’s a farmer’s market going on today a few blocks away,” Steve said when he saw Bruce’s sad collection.  “I run past it a lot, and I’ve always wanted to stop but I haven’t yet.  You could come with me and get some groceries.”

Bruce rubbed his right hand with his left as he thought.  He could get JARVIS to order in some food, or probably even groceries since he was pretty sure Tony had never set foot in a supermarket in his life.  But, then again, street markets always held a strange appeal for him.  He liked the hustle and bustle, the colors, and scents.  Sometimes after so long alone, even the crowds were a welcome sight.

“C’mon, Doc,” Steve urged.  “You of all people should know it’s not healthy to stay cooped up inside all the time.  When’s the last time you saw natural daylight.”

Bruce couldn’t really answer that.  “I need to go change,” he said, looking down at his wrinkled flannels.

Steve smiled.  “Ok, meet you in the lobby.”

****

Twenty minutes later, Bruce heaved into the trashcan, his stomach emptying all of the water he had just gulped down.  “Oh, Steve, I’m sorry.” He moaned a little.  “I’m ruining your morning.”

Steve, standing a pace away to give him some air and as much privacy as he could get on a public sidewalk, said, “I think you have that backwards.  I’m the one who insisted on the company.”

“I didn’t realize how out of shape I am.  Living in the Tower has made me soft.” He glanced over to Steve standing statuesque over him.  “Well…softer.”

“Let’s walk a bit.” Steve put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder to help get him moving in the right direction.  Bruce let himself be led a few steps before his legs stopped feeling so numb and wobbly and he could shake free of Steve’s hand.

“I can go back to the Tower if you want to keep going,” Bruce said, which earned him a bewildered look from Steve. 

“Well, if you want to go back, we can, but the market isn’t much farther.  It’s just another block.”

“Ok,” Bruce said, already feeling a bit better as his heart rate slowed and his breathing started to come in normal-sized pants instead of gasps, though he was coming to realize that his definition of a “few blocks” was very different than Captain America’s.

They walked in silence for a minute before Steve spoke again.  “Y’know, Bruce, I went through basic training _before_ the serum. I was a mess.  I was always so far in the back, puking my guts out, barely able to breathe…and I just felt horrible about the whole situation.  I can’t tell you how many times my platoon had to do pushups because Private Rogers could barely crawl his way back to camp.  So I learned pretty quickly that the only way I could cope was to stop comparing myself to everyone else and focus on what I could do better every day.”

“And all that perseverance turned you into America’s super-soldier.”

Steve laughed.  “Of course not.  I had a list of medical problems the length of your arm.  No amount of perseverance is going to fix that without some crazy science behind it.”

“Uh…I think I lost your point, Cap.”

“My point is that you’re not ruining my run, Bruce.”

Bruce thanked his stars that they arrived at the market so he could shift the focus to something else and didn’t have to respond.  The booths were just setting up, with some vendors setting out baskets of produce in shades of jewel red and leafy green as others set up awnings and shades over their tables.  He missed wandering street markets; no matter where he went in the world, the markets were a constant, even though the aroma of spices and the sound of the languages differed greatly.  There was always a bazaar or a street fair he could find that would provide cheap clothes and food (and, if he was really lucky, shoes and glasses that were close to his prescription).  Even this one, with its raw honey beauty product stand and organic frozen yogurt truck, inspired nostalgia.

They wandered down the block, inspecting the odd array of high-end lettuce and picking their way through bushels of avocados as they tasted everything on offer.  Steve had no fear of asking questions about the varieties of fruits and vegetables he had never seen before.  Bruce was surprised at how genuinely interested Steve was in kale.

As they walked, they passed a young woman struggling to raise an EZ-Up by herself.  She had one pole up, but the other three were still collapsed.  When she let go of the extended end to try to raise one of the other supports, the pole slid across the concrete, threatening to snap under the weight of the structure.  Bruce was closest, so he automatically reached out to catch the errant pole while Steve grabbed the top supports.

“Miss, would you mind terribly if we helped you?” Steve asked.

The woman’s eyes went wide for a moment before she returned Steve’s smile.  “Would I mind?  No.  I mean thank you.  Why would I mind?”

Bruce and Steve made quick work of locking the supports into place.  It really wasn’t a one-person job, Bruce thought, and it was nice to feel useful.

“I’m…not from here,” Steve said as they worked.  “I’ve found that some dames—some women think I’m being rude by implying they can’t do it themselves.”  Steve smiled, and Bruce could swear he could see the woman’s knees buckle a little. 

“I guess I’m just old-fashioned,” the woman said.  She handed Steve a pint of blueberries.  “Thank you so much.”

Steve accepted the blueberries and slipped them into the backpack he brought to carry their food home.  Bruce waved and they continued on their exploration.

As they walked away, Steve said “Avengers assemble!” very quietly under his breath.  Bruce couldn’t help the giggling fit that consumed him, which set Steve off laughing, too.

 

 “So you don’t eat meat at all?” Steve asked after they both regained their breath.

“Generally not, if I can help it.  Where I’ve been living, most people are vegetarian by default—meat is a luxury—so I got used to it.  Then, I lived at a Buddhist temple for a little while and I really started believing the philosophy behind it, too.  And I think it makes me feel better about some of the destruction the Other Guy has caused.  I guess I’m offsetting my carnage footprint.”

Steve looked thoughtful, but his face was open and curious.  “But you’ve cooked meat for us plenty of times before.  Doesn’t that bother you?”

Bruce shook his head.  “No.  I went to medical school.  Raw meat doesn’t bother me.”

Steve smiled at him, then, as if he had made some big decision.  “You’re a great guy, Bruce,” he said.

Bruce looked up at him.  “Uh…thanks?”

“So what’s this thing?” Steve asked, holding up a purpling heirloom tomato. 

****

The trip back to the Tower was much kinder to Bruce.  Steve set the pace, running for a minute and walking for several before breaking into a run again, and Bruce found that he could keep up with the intervals with effort, but he didn’t feel like he wanted to pass out on the sidewalk this time.  Still, he was breathing hard even after Steve made him walk for a while to cool down. 

In the elevator, Steve looked over to Bruce.

“So, I know you’re busy with your own projects, but how would you feel about joining me again tomorrow morning?”  Steve asked.

Bruce was taken aback, both by the invitation and by the look of hopeful anticipation on Steve’s face.  “Don’t you run, like, 30 miles a day?”

Steve’s mouth curled up into a half smile.  “Yes, and maybe a few will be with you.”

Bruce’s chest tightened at the thought of a multiple-mile run.  That alone told him that he was far too out of shape to survive if he was trying to evade…well, anything faster than a guinea pig…for more than five minutes.  And there was once a time he could lose an entire SWAT team if he was on familiar ground.

“Ok, sounds like fun,” he agreed.  “I look forward to throwing up in public again.”

Steve slapped him on the back so hard that he was almost bowled over. “Well that’s just swell.”

****

“Breakfast,” Tony mumbled.  “I was promised breakfast,” he gestured to the StarkPad he held under his arm and Bruce’s handwritten note displayed on the screen.

Somehow, he had managed to find his blue and gold brocade house coat, and he rubbed his bleary eyes with the sleeve as he pulled himself into the seat at the breakfast bar and proceeded to watch Bruce and Steve cooking together.  Bruce was relieved to see that he had actually slept the entire time he and Steve were at the market and not woken up and gone straight to work.

Bruce cut a piece from the frittata he had just pulled out of the oven and slid it onto a plate alongside a piece of ham. He set it on the counter in front of Tony.  Steve stood at the stove, flipping pancakes in the air and catching them in the pan.  Bruce caught the eye roll Tony sent his way, but he forced his expression to stay blank.  He shouldn’t encourage him.  Steve was—well, nothing like he expected the more he got to know the guy.  Every time he spoke to Steve, he learned more and more that Captain America was just a mask.

Steve remained oblivious to Tony’s expression and loaded a plate of pancakes, golden and fat with ripe blueberries, for him.  Bruce saw as Steve started to hand the plate to Tony and Tony start to tense in defense, so he reached out as smoothly as he could and intercepted the plate.  If Steve thought it was odd, he didn’t show it.

“These are so beautiful, they shouldn’t be ruined with butter and syrup,” Bruce explained as he squeezed lemon and sprinkled powdered sugar on them.  “Try it like this.”

Bruce placed the plate on the counter so that Tony could pick it up on his own terms.  Tony grabbed his hand as he let go of the plate and trapped it against the granite.  He caught Bruce’s eyes and held his gaze, but Bruce couldn’t read the conflicting emotions on his face.  “Thanks, Steve.  These look too good to eat,” Tony said.

“And they taste better than they look,” Bruce added, tugging his hand away.  “Coffee?”


	10. Chapter 10: First Flight

Since the farmer’s market, Bruce and Steve went for a run nearly every day at dawn.  After that, they would make breakfast for whoever was awake, and then Bruce would come find Tony to help him with whatever he was doing—which, lately, was always working on the new armor. They would tinker with the suit until they were too tired to continue, and the days grew longer as Tony came closer and closer to finishing his latest creation.  It was a routine, and both scientists were so focused on the completion of the Mark XVII that they left little time for sleeping, much less…recreational activities.

Tony was grateful.  The time let him process what he had already learned about Bruce and plan his next steps.  Simple touching didn’t overwhelm Bruce nearly as much anymore, to the point that he would accept casual contact without shivering and shying away.  But it was a big step from touching him on the arm to what Tony wanted to do with him.

And the root of the problem went deep, so much deeper than Tony had imagined.  Self-loathing was no stranger to the Starks, but he had never faced the suffering and abuse that Bruce had been subjected to by everyone he had ever trusted.  But Bruce never broke.  His father couldn’t do it, Ross couldn’t do it, even that twit girl Betty couldn’t do it.  No, Bruce’s will was adamant.  But it was also his will that wouldn’t allow him to accept a compliment, that told him he was stupid and weak, that made him believe he was a monster. 

The body is easy to break. Willpower is a different matter.  Tony learned that first-hand in a cave in Afghanistan. 

But Tony didn’t want to break Bruce; he wanted to fix him.  Good thing he was a kick-ass mechanic. 

****

“It’s done.” Tony stood with his hands on his hips, admiring his newest creation.

“Done?” Bruce looked up from computer screen.

“Mostly.  The weapon systems aren’t online, but it’s ready to fly.”

Bruce came to stand next to Tony, arms crossed loosely.  “You’re taking it out tonight, aren’t you?”

“Nah.  Right now.”

Normally, such rashness would earn Tony a tirade from JARVIS or Pepper or Happy—or all three at once—but Bruce’s face lit up like Times Square.  “Are you suiting up here or using the Car Wash?”

The assembly strip’s nickname always made Tony smile.  “No time like the present.  JARVIS?”

“Willing and ready, Sir.”

The suit opened up, peeling itself back to allow Tony to step inside before molding itself to his body.

“You know it looks kind of like a cutting open a lobster when you do it that way,” Bruce remarked. 

“Oh wow, you found a way to make Iron Man unsexy.”  Tony’s voice was electronic behind the mask.  “Congratulations.  I didn’t know it could be done.”

“How does it feel?”

Tony flexed and moved, savoring the way the suit moved with him.  This one was bigger, broader, and he could feel the extra power right there waiting for him.  The HUD flashed to life as JARVIS ran his diagnostics, red warnings telling him to stay still and let JARVIS finish for once.  But the sky was waiting, just beyond the window.

“Feels good, Doc.  See you upstairs.”  Tony blasted away, barely giving JARVIS enough time to retract the window glass before shooting into the stratosphere.

One last look back revealed Bruce hanging out the open window, grinning and waving furiously.

****

The sky was darkening by the time Tony returned to the Tower.  There was nothing like the first flight in a new set of armor.  That first plunge and those moments before the repulsors kicked in that seemed to stretch out forever.  Those were his favorite moments, when the world seemed infinite with possibility.  Of course, many of those possibilities invovled a serious chance of death, but that was part of the fun, too.

He had stayed out much longer than he intended, mostly thinking about how he could incorporate stabilizers into the calves of the suit so he could free up his hands, but thinking a little about Bruce, too.

Ok, maybe he was thinking mostly about Bruce.

The last rays of sun were disappearing behind the Manhattan skyline as he made his final approach.  He spotted Bruce folded into a graceful lotus on the balcony, meditating as he waited for Tony’s return, so  he bypassed the Car Wash to land as softly as he could next to Bruce—which nearly buckled the balcony because damn, this suit had some heft!

Brown eyes fluttered open to look up at him.

“Hi Honey, I’m home,” Tony said, striking his best super hero pose.

“Nice landing, Danger Zone,” Bruce replied.  “Have fun?”

“Yeah.  It’s got some kick, that’s for sure.”

“It’s meant to carry more guns than Natasha in cargo pants.  It better have some kick to get off the ground when it’s armed.”

Tony held out an armored hand to help Bruce to his feet.  Bruce dusted his pants off and headed inside.  “Do you want to sleep with it on?” Bruce asked as Tony started to follow him.

“You sound like Pepper.  Don’t sound like Pepper.  It’s confusing.”  But Tony did fly up to the assembly strip to let JARVIS peel him out of the armor.

When Tony entered the living room, Bruce was standing near the bar, twisting his hands around each other.  He looked completely lost and out of place as he paced between the sunken living room and the bar and back again.  Tony walked over the bar and poured himself a scotch.  The exhilaration of the flight still hadn’t left him, and he needed something to settle his nerves, to bring him back to earth.  He could understand Bruce’s nervous energy because he felt like that, too, like he needed to go back to the workshop, or maybe take the Mark XVII out again for some night ops.

Then again, maybe they both needed a different type of catharsis.

“Bruce,” Tony said, “you’ve been such a great help on the suit.”

“Aw, Tony, I’m just happy to help.  This, all this,” Bruce said, spreading his hands wide, “well, I never dreamed I would be here.  With you.”  He blushed.  “I’m not really a lot of help, though.  I still have a lot to learn.”

Tony closed the distance between them and put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder.  “Yes, you are.” He stared deep into Bruce’s eyes, transmitting all of his admiration, all of his reverence and awe.  He wished it was as easy as it was in the suit, thoughts and energy flowing and combining into one force.  But maybe Bruce did feel it because his shoulder shifted under Tony’s hand as he straightened, just a tiny bit. 

“I want to thank you properly,” Tony said.

“You already have,” Bruce said.

“Will you wait here, while I go get some things ready?”

Bruce’s eyebrows shot up in what Tony was beginning to label as his “incredulous Hulk” look.  But then he said, “Tony, I’d wait forever for you,” in a way that was obvious that the words escaped his mouth before he could stop them.  Bruce turned away and sat on the edge of the couch, stiff and awkward again.

“Five minutes,” Tony said before he disappeared into his bedroom.

Really, it only took Tony three minutes because he didn’t want to leave Bruce alone for a second more than necessary.

“Bruce,” Tony called, “will you come in here?”

Bruce wandered into the bedroom, looking around as if expecting a trap.  Which, he supposed, wasn’t far from the truth.  Tony pointed to the bed where three sets of restraints were laid out. He leaned against the door frame and watched as Bruce studied each in turn.  The first was a length of black silk rope, safety scissors placed conspicuously beside it.  The second was a set of padded steel handcuffs.  The third was a pair of dark brown leather cuffs with brass buckles.  Bruce trailed his fingers over each one, testing the tensile strength of the rope and the weight of the handcuffs in his hands.  He picked up one of the cuffs to check the fit and Tony’s pants felt tight at the sight of the dark leather wrapped around the slender wrist. 

“You choose,” Tony said.

“Which ones won’t interfere with the watch?” Bruce asked.

Tony’s felt his heart thump hard against the back of the arc reactor and coughed to cover it up.  He shook his head.  “All of them will.”

Bruce’s expression fell in disappointment—which made Tony’s heart thump hard again!  Damn, something in there needed rewiring, he thought.  “Hey, it’s ok,” Tony said.  “Come here and I’ll show you…but bring the ones you want.”

Bruce turned back to the bed and selected the leather cuffs, turning them over in his hands.  He padded across the room to Tony. After a moment’s hesitation and to Tony’s utter delight, he slid to his knees.

“Good boy,” Tony said, taking the cuffs from Bruce’s hands and slipping them into the pocket of his housecoat.  “Give me your left arm.”  He reached into the opposite pocket and pulled out a disc roughly the size of a quarter. Bruce proffered his arm, and Tony caught and turned it so he could press the disc to the inside of his wrist.  The adhesive stuck, but Tony still took a strip of medical tape and taped it down to make sure it wasn’t going anywhere.  “It’s the same sensor as the watch, but a lot easier to keep on under…certain circumstances.”

Tony let go of Bruce’s hand and he brought it close to inspect the sensor.  “Thank you,” he said, dropping his hands to his lap.  Tony ran his hands through Bruce’s hair, pulling lightly on the curls and watching them spring back into place. His hair was soft and coarse at the same time, just perfect for tangling fingers.

“Whatever makes you more comfortable,” he said. He lifted the glasses from Bruce’s nose and put them on. 

At that small signal, Bruce’s demeanor shifted.  He settled his weight further onto his heels, shoulder blades lowering down his back as his spine straightened a little.  He looked more relaxed, more at ease in his position, waiting patiently for Tony to take the lead. 

Tony sank to his knees so he was on Bruce’s level, taking the cuffs from his pocket and securing them around Bruce’s wrists as he spoke.  “I’m going to tie your hands to the bed tonight, Bruce.  I’m not going to lock you in.  These cuffs are difficult to remove quickly, but the tethers have quick-release snaps.”

“And then what?” Bruce’s voice was a nervous, husky whisper that made desire pool deep in Tony’s belly. 

“And then we’ll see how far we can go,” Tony said.  “So it’s really important that you keep talking to me tonight, tell me how you’re feeling, Brucie.”  The cuffs were buckled snugly, and Tony snapped them together with a short length of leather from his pocket.  He held Bruce’s hands down with one hand as he wrapped the other around the back of his neck, pulling him forward until his forehead rested against Tony’s shoulder. “I really want to get you off tonight,” Tony whispered into his ear.  He could feel the tremors that wracked Bruce’s body, but he didn’t let go.  He rubbed the back of Bruce’s neck softly and tightened his hold on the leather strap.  “I want to make you come so hard that you see constellations in fucking Asgard.”

Bruce’s breathing hitched sharply, and Tony released him.  He guided him up and Bruce followed to the bed.  He undid the strap so that he could unbutton Bruce’s shirt and slip it from his shoulders.  For all the times Tony had seen Bruce naked, it was not like he had ever undressed the guy.  Bruce was tanned all over, though he was starting to lose some of his bronze from hiding away in the Tower and…well…getting a chance to shower every day.  But he was surprisingly lithe under all his thrift-shop clothes, broad shoulders leading to arms that looked too skinny to be as strong as Tony knew he was.

“Lie on your back,” Tony instructed. 

Bruce sat on the edge of the bed and awkwardly lowered himself down.

“Good boy.” He looked for any effect those words might have on Bruce, but he was too wound up to show if it did.  He leaned over him so he could look him in the eyes, and he was relieved to see Bruce looking steadily back at him.  “I’m not going to hurt you,” Tony said.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” Bruce repeated. This, too, had become routine.  But, Tony was learning, Bruce thrived on routine.  His yoga, his meditation, his tea, even the way he twisted his hands around each other, were all part of an attempt to interject something safe and predictable into the vast chaos that was his life.  When everything else was taken away, he still had something steady to fall back on.

“Good boy,” Tony said.  This time, Bruce’s eyes darkened as his pupils dilated. 

Two leather straps were connected to eyebolts in the headboard, hidden under the level of the mattress.  Tony took each of Bruce’s cuffed wrists and snapped it to a strap before pulling it tight.  Other than a soft huffing exhale, Bruce didn’t make a sound.

“How are you, Brucie?  Give me a color.”

“Green,” Bruce replied.

The mattress dipped as Tony climbed onto the bed beside Bruce.  He leaned on his elbow across Bruce’s hips to watch his chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm while the object of his attention looked back at him from under lowered eyelids.   Tony used his free hand to rub his index finger around Bruce’s left nipple, earning him a sharp gasp in return.

“My sensitive little snowflake,” Tony murmured.

“Why do I have to be a snowflake?” Bruce moped half-heartedly.  He gasped again as Tony seized his nipple in between nimble fingers and rolled it back and forth.  “Can I get a,” gasp, “a Lord of the Rings reference at least.”

Tony pushed off his elbow and braced himself with a hand on either side of Bruce’s chest.  He leaned down and licked a broad path across his nipple before blowing softly.  Bruce tried to twist away, but he didn’t put any real effort into it and the cuffs held. 

“The thing about snowflakes,” Tony said before repeating the process on the opposite side, “is that they seem so fragile at first, but they don’t ever die.  They change properties, but they always have the chance to become a snowflake again.”

Tony laid his head down on Bruce’s abdomen, gazing up at him as Bruce gazed down.  They stayed like that for a long moment.  The movement of Bruce’s breathing under his cheek reminded Tony of surfing in Malibu—lifetimes ago—and of the swells under his board.

“I still don’t want to be a snowflake,” Bruce broke through Tony’s reverie. 

“Ok, I’ll think of something else,” Tony said, but he didn’t laugh because he recognized the lame joke for what it was.  Bruce was starting to think too much and lose the moment, which would make him want to quit completely.  Tony had to stop him from over analyzing and get him to let go of his negative thought patterns.  He needed a distraction.

So Tony leaned back over and sucked Bruce’s nipple into his mouth, worrying it between his teeth as Bruce gasped and shuddered beneath him, but Tony slowed, steadily alternating between sucking and slow, firm licks.  One hand snaked between them to slip inside the waist band of Bruce’s pants. He was met with slightly damp warmth before Bruce made a sound quite like a squeak and jerked so hard against the straps that it felt like he pulled the bed away from the wall an inch or two.

“Yellow?”  Tony asked.

“Yeah, more like orange,” Bruce said after a moment.

Tony put one hand across Bruce’s bound wrists, ready to unsnap the restraints at Bruce’s word.  “Do you want to keep going, or do you want a break?”  He tapped the glasses.  “I’m looking out for you.”

“I’m ok,” Bruce said.  His voice sounded steady enough.  “I think I was just surprised.”

Tony nodded.  He moved down on the bed so he was sitting beside Bruce’s knees.  “I’m going to take your pants off.”

Bruce bit his lip, but nodded his assent.  Tony undid the button on his slacks and eased them down around his hips.  Bruce’s lip was still firmly between his teeth, but he nodded for Tony to continue, so he slid them the rest of the way down and off.  He forgot that Bruce tended not to wear underwear.

Nude Bruce was not an uncommon sight for Tony, but not like this.  Not splayed, vulnerable and waiting in Tony’s bed.  Pain lurched through his chest as his heart thumped hard against metal.  But the sharp ache also reminded him that he was fully dressed with Bruce lying exposed before him.

He should get undressed, make Bruce feel more comfortable.  But, that meant…

…maybe he hadn’t thought this through.

Fuck it.

Tony peeled off his shirts, first the outer layer, then the inner layer, and his undershirt, until he stood bared before Bruce.  Uncovered, the arc reactor was blinding, washing the entire room in blue-white light and reflecting perfect, bright circles in Bruce’s eyes.  Bruce’s breath came in quick pants, but he was focused entirely on the reactor.

“I didn’t really plan this,” Tony said.  “Does it freak you out?  It kind of freaks me out sometimes, so it’s ok if it does.”

“No,” Bruce said and Tony wondered how one syllable could be spoken so reverently.

“Do you want a closer look?”

“Yes.”

So Tony moved to sit on the bed right next to Bruce’s shoulder.  To his credit, Bruce didn’t pull or tense against the cuffs, didn’t even try to reach and touch the alien light.  His eyes went wide, roving over Tony’s chest, tracing the scars that spidered out from the edge in every direction, but there was no sign of revulsion on his face.  In fact, he seemed positively hypnotized.  Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all, Tony thought.

After several long minutes, Bruce’s gaze shifted and he seemed to come back to himself.  “Thank you,” he said.

Tony’s throat tightened, but he managed to sound normal when he said, “This isn’t even what we’re here for.”

He reached down and grasped Bruce’s cock, causing him to buck off the bed.  “Shh,” Tony soothed, rubbing his abdomen with his free hand while keeping a firm hold with the other.  “I’ve got you, just relax.”

Tony let go and trailed his fingers lightly up and down Bruce’s shaft, entranced as his heartbeat rose just as his cock filled under his hands.

“Tony…” Bruce whined.  “Yellow, Tony…”

“Shh.  You’re ok.  Not even close to 160,” Tony said.  “I’m watching.” 

Tony paused to rub his hands up and down Bruce’s sides, firmly from his ribs down to his hips.  “Let go.  I’ve got you.  I’ll tell you when to worry.”

He wrapped his hands around Bruce’s hips, holding him still as he slid his mouth over his the head of his cock, just holding it open there, letting Bruce feel the heat and the draft of his breath.   Bruce gasped and squirmed, but not enough to disturb Tony.  He slid his mouth further down until he could feel pressure against the back of his throat, then carefully closed his lips around the shaft.  He didn’t move; he just held Bruce safe, breathing steadily through his nose.  Bruce felt heavy in his mouth, and if he was still, he could feel Bruce’s pulse through the vein that pressed against his tongue.

After a few moments, Tony worked his tongue against the vein. Bruce cried out and bucked hard, gagging Tony and forcing him to pull back.

“I’m sorry!” Bruce said. “Tony, I’m sorry!  I can’t!  I’m going to hurt you!”

“Shh, Bruce, breathe, Brucie,” Tony soothed.  “In and out.  You tell me to do it all the time.”

Bruce shut his eyes and dragged in a long breath, puffing his cheeks as he exhaled.  “Give me a color, Brucie,” Tony said quietly.

“Green,” Bruce said, but he took so long to say it that Tony wasn’t sure he believed him.  But Bruce was still hard, leaking fluid steadily now, so maybe he should believe him.

Tony fetched a condom from the bedside drawer.  He broke open the package with his teeth and rolled the condom onto Bruce.  He considered using his mouth, but figured Bruce didn’t really need any fancy party tricks to be entertained.   The condom tasted too rubbery as he slid his mouth back down, but it was easy to ignore when he heard the moans and whimpers wrenched from deep in Bruce’s chest.  His heart rate rose steadily, but evened out before Tony became even remotely concerned.  He relaxed his throat, took a deep breath and took him to the root.  Bruce didn’t buck this time, but Tony could feel the tension in his thighs as he fought the urge, so he slid his hands under Bruce’s hips, holding tight to his ass as he forced himself down as far as he could go.  He swallowed around Bruce’s cock, his throat squeezing and massaging him all the way down. 

All of a sudden, Bruce came with a sobbing moan.  Tony kept swallowing his shuddering cock while digging his fingers hard into the back of Bruce’s thighs to keep him against the bed.  Bruce shook one last time before going still.

“Tony…I…I…” Bruce’s voice was rough and thick.

The request was vague, but Tony could guess what Bruce wanted and shimmied to his feet and unhooked the cuffs from the tethers.  “Here, move slowly,” Tony said, rubbing the circulation back into Bruce’s arms.

Once Bruce was free, Tony slipped the condom off him and tossed it in the garbage.  Bruce was still shaking, so he pulled the sheet up to his chin.   Bruce curled up onto his left side under the blanket, hugging himself a little.

“Hey,” Tony said, stroking Bruce’s back firmly from the base of his neck to his tailbone over and over.  “How was that?  Talk to me, Brucie.”

“I don’t know.  I…that felt good.  _Really_ good.  But it’s been so long…I…are you ok?  Did I hurt you?”

Tony’s laughter echoed in the quiet of the room.  “Am I ok?  Yeah, I’m good.  I’m awesome.”

“Yeah, you kind of are.”

Tony drew Bruce’s hands out from under the sheet and unbuckled each cuff, tossing them into the bedside drawers for now.  Faint red marks showed where Bruce had pulled against the cuffs, but Tony rubbed them away.   “You ok?  Hungry?  Thirsty?” Tony asked.

“Sleepy,” Bruce said.

“You can sleep here.  Or do you want to go back to your room?”

“What do you want me to do?  It’s your bed.”

“Stay,” Tony said.  “You can leave later if you decide you’d rather have your own bed.  But stay here—for now at least.”

Bruce smiled—not the rueful, bitter, ironic smile that Tony had seen so often, but a real smile that lit up his entire being from within.  “Ok,” he said. 

Tony took off the glasses and put them on the bedside table closest to Bruce.  He ruffled Bruce’s hair and grabbed his shirt off the floor before standing and pulling it back on.  The room darkened as the arc reactor was muffled.

“Where are you going?” Bruce said.

“Shower.  Long, hot shower.  Or short and cold.  Haven’t decided yet,” Tony said, adjusting his pants. 

And he’d be damned if Bruce didn’t look absolutely stricken.  “Should I…?”

“Some other time, Brucie.  This was for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I LOVE everyone's feedback and encouragement so thanks for that, too.


	11. Chapter 11: A Different Kind of Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce doesn't know what a good listener he is.

Steve intercepted Bruce in the Avengers’ living room before their morning run.  Usually, Steve started much earlier than Bruce, but he would swing by the Tower and the two would run a few miles.  Though it was more of a cool down for Steve, Bruce got a pretty strenuous workout.  After a few weeks, he could feel his body just beginning to remember what it was like to be fast and strong—well, fast and strong and not at all green.  But it was strange for Steve to break routine and wait for him upstairs.

“Hey Bruce.  Ready to go?” Steve said as he grabbed a towel from where it was draped over a chair.

“Where are we going?” Bruce said.

“Just downstairs to the gym,” Steve said.  He ushered Bruce into the elevator before he could complain.

Bruce hated elevators.  Enclosed spaces, social anxiety, and the Other Guy didn’t mix well.

And he kind of hated the gym, ever since that damned climbing rope in the 6th grade.  He could climb a rope now.  He was quite good at it, in fact.  But he still didn’t like the gym.

The elevator opened, saving Bruce from his brooding.  He had never set foot in the Tower’s gym before, and it was actually quite…beautiful.  There was a huge boxing ring at one end, a row of punching bags, free weights, a tumbling mat, and a significant portion set aside for physical therapy equipment.  And a rope course in the rafters.

Steve led him over to a bench next to the boxing ring where he had hand wraps and gloves set out. Bruce’s stomach sank.  This was going to be embarrassing.

“Know anything about boxing?” Steve asked.

Bruce shook his head.

“Great.  I’ll teach you.”

“Ah, Steve, that’s really great, but I’m not any good at...this sort of…thing,” Bruce said, gesturing vaguely at the boxing equipment.

Steve looked at him, puzzled.  “That’s why we’re going to practice,” he said.  “Has anyone ever showed you how to throw a punch?  What did you study before?”

“Jiu-jitsu in Brazil.” Steve motioned for him to sit down on the bench and picked up one of the wraps.  He held out his hand, and Bruce hesitated for only a moment before he reached out his own hand.  “And, no, not unless you count the movies.  I mostly focused on defense and breathing techniques, and I didn’t get to study for long before I had to leave.”

Steve nodded without looking up from his work.  He wrapped the material over Bruce’s thumb, looping it around his wrist before crossing up over his knuckles.  “The pictures don’t show the right way to knock a guy out.  In reality, it’s not very dramatic or pretty.  There’re no sound effects and your opponent doesn’t fly backwards,” Steve said as he secured the wrap and started on the other hand.  “And if you clock a guy on the jaw, you’re just as likely to break your hand as you are to break his face.”

Bruce’s memory flitted to the feeling of a large fist slamming against his cheekbone as he cowered behind a brown corduroy couch.  The Other Guy woke, roaring in the dark corners of his mind before he could force himself to take a deep breath and bring his awareness back to the present.  He concentrated on the feeling of Steve’s hands manipulating his, pressing the wrapping between the fingers of his right hand and squeezing the tips to check his circulation and make sure it wasn’t too tight.  It felt good.  The cloth provided a thick barrier between his skin and Steve’s, but he could still feel the warmth and pressure of his hands.  The Other Guy calmed as he took stock of the situation and realized that there was no real threat.

When Bruce opened his eyes—he didn’t remember closing them—Steve was finished and just watching him warily.  “Are you ok, Doctor Banner?  Bruce?” 

Yes, he was ok.  Sometimes he wished Steve didn’t always have to do the right thing.  Like ask him if he was ok.  All.  The.  Time.

“I’m fine, Steve.  So, show me what to do?”

“Well, you hold your hand like this,” Steve said.  He took Bruce’s hand and tucked his finger in, folding his thumb below his fingertips.  “Don’t put your fingers over your thumb, or you’ll break it.  And you want to hit with your knuckles, not the flat of your fist.”

Steve took him to the heavy bag and demonstrated the proper technique.  “You need to put your hip into it, so the movement comes all the way from the ground instead of just using your arms.”

“Torque,” Bruce said.  “And proper body alignment to absorb shock.”

“Exactly.  I thought you didn’t know anything about boxing.”

“It’s physics and anatomy.  I’m kind of a physicist with an MD.  Well, I’m not licensed, but…”

“I never did actually earn the rank of captain,” Steve said.

“I don’t know if that matters anymore,” Bruce stood and took a practice swing at the bag, feeling the impact all the way up his arm and down his back.  It hurt, but it felt good at the same time.  The Other Guy seemed to agree because he could feel a constant rumbling in the back of his mind that was almost like a purr.  “Anyway, theory is easy, but practical application is another matter,” he said, already breathing harder.

“No, that looked good.  Try with the other side now.”

They took turns at the bag.  Steve focused on speed and combinations, but he had Bruce slow down and focus on the basic technique, coaching him into lining up his body precisely before swinging.  It was a lot like yoga in the sense that it took concentration to make sure his alignment and breathing were correct, but it was therapeutic in a totally different way—more like the feeling after a particularly spectacular laboratory explosion.

All the while, Steve talked.  Mostly, he told stories about Bucky teaching him to fight, about how reluctant he was and how he eventually gave in.  He told Bruce about the fights where Bucky had to rescue him, and about the fights where Bucky wasn’t there to do the rescuing.  Bruce realized how lonely Steve must feel without his buddy by his side.  He had never had a best friend like Steve had Bucky, so he didn’t have anyone to miss when he was on the run.  Something deep inside him knew that the empty, numb loneliness wasn’t nearly as painful as the raw ache of Steve’s loss.

Bruce didn’t know how much time had passed, but he was dripping sweat and exhausted by the time Steve announced that they were done for the day.  At least he didn’t throw up this time, he mused as he dragged himself to the showers.

****

Later that day, as they were working on the stabilizer redesign on the suit, Bruce noticed Tony’s coughing.  It started sometime mid-afternoon and escalated toward evening.  And it wouldn’t have worried Bruce except for that he saw the way Tony’s shoulders folded inward just slightly, and the way his hands fluttered toward the arc reactor when he thought Bruce wasn’t watching. 

It took a moment to figure out how to approach this conversation.  If he asked Tony if he felt ok, he would get nothing but a dismissive “I’m fine.”  Asking about the arc reactor itself would give Tony too many ways to distract him with mechanics and theories before he could get to the real topic of conversation.  And asking him to see a doctor directly would probably make him defensive.  The only other option Bruce could think of was to be honest about his concerns and hope Tony trusted him enough to be honest in return.

Bruce caught the hand holding the wrench, making Tony pause and look up at Bruce.  “That cough worries me because I can tell it hurts your chest.  I’m pretty good at helping things like that go away if you’d let me take a look.”

Several conflicting emotions crossed Tony’s face.  His eyes widened and his eyebrows drew together as he stared hard at him.  In those eyes, Bruce could see doubt, and fear, and a little relief in there somewhere, too.

“There’s no need, really.  JARVIS monitors me through the reactor.  I know there’s a problem, but I’m pretty sure I know what it is.  I just haven’t gotten around to fixing it.”  Tony paused. “But you’re not a real doctor,” Tony said.  His free hand was creeping up to his chest.

Bruce bristled a little. “Well, technically, no, but…”

“And you’re not some crazy nuclear physicist.”

“Umm…actually that’s my--”

“No.  Just say no.”

Bruce realized what Tony was going on about.  “I just want to make you feel better.  Just like you do for me.”

Tony was very quiet for a few heartbeats.  “Ok.  Let’s fix this thing.”

The shop was surprisingly (or not, if Bruce actually thought about it) well equipped for such an occasion.  In the back, where Bruce never before had reason to go, there was a padded chair surrounded by a couple of digital displays, some of which were familiar to Bruce and others that were not.  A bundle of wires was suspended over the chair from the ceiling, where he guessed they fed into JARVIS’s processors in the ceiling. 

“Light ‘em up, J,” Tony said and the displays came to life. 

Tony hopped onto the chair and stripped off his shirts.  He paused with his thumbs hooked in the waist band of his jeans.

“Does this include a prostate exam?” he asked with a wink.

Bruce swatted him on the thigh.  “Maybe if you’re good,” he said.

“Ooh, Doctor!” Tony chuckled but he left the jeans on and leaned back.

Bruce was hesitant to approach.  The bright surgical lamps overhead washed out Tony’s skin and highlighted every old wound and scar.  The scarring wasn’t particularly bothersome to Bruce (though he couldn’t help but imagine what Tony must have gone through to earn them) but he wanted to make sure that Tony wanted him there. Tony noticed Bruce’s sudden shyness and held out his hand to beckon him close.

“Hey, Buddy, you can’t help from way over there, and this actually might be easier with two sets of hands.”

Bruce came to the side of the chair.  Tony hit the lever and tilted the headrest down so he was more exposed to Bruce’s view.  This close, he could tell the age of the scars on Tony’s chest.  The oldest were faded, but deep and jagged, including one that ran from the bottom of the reactor down the length of his breastbone; those were the scars from the original surgery.  The skin was smooth and tight where the reactor met flesh, but right now it looked red and inflamed, especially on the left side.

Bruce reached out, but let his hands hover without touching. 

“Go ahead,” Tony insisted, raising his head to look at Bruce.

“Ah…I should wash up first.  And gloves?  Got those?  What _do_ you have here?”  Bruce shook his head and forced himself into Doctor Banner mode.

Tony let his head thump back down onto the leather.  “In the cupboard over there,” he said as he gestured to the wall behind the digital displays.

By the time Bruce washed his hands, found gloves, and explored the rest of the cabinets, Tony had already hooked himself up to the ekg and he was holding a thick copper-colored cord in his hand.  “Come here, you need to know how to do this,” Tony said. 

Bruce snapped on the gloves and grabbed the stethoscope he found.

“Ok,” Tony said, “grab the rim of the reactor and twist it out, just like in the suit.  Be careful to pull it straight up and out.  It’s like Operation, but my nose won’t light up, so it’s not cute.  Don’t test it.”

The reactor came out smoothly.

“Good, quick now take the auxiliary power and plug it into the baseplate.”

Tony’s hand fell to the armrest as soon as he handed over the thick wire.  Bruce snapped the wire into place and Tony let out a huge breath as a shudder ran though his chest.  Bruce watched him pant, eyes squeezed shut.

“Hey, Tony, are you ok?  Are you in pain?”

Tony’s eyes didn’t open, but his lips curled up in a sad smile.  “Pain?  No, no…this is nothing.”  His eyes slid open and focused on Bruce.  He visibly forced himself to relax and folded his hands over his bare abdomen.  “You’re holding my heart there, Doc.  Take a look.  What do you think is broken?”

Bruce forgot that he was still holding the disconnected arc reactor.  It was heavy and surprisingly cool in his hand.  He turned it over, allowing his memory to fall back to what he had learned from building the Mark XVII’s reactor.  After a few minutes, Bruce saw the problem.  It was silly, really.  One of the coils was bent out of place, which caused a short when it touched the reactor wall.  There was an insulating coating on the reactor housing, but it looked like that spot had been compromised, possibly from the same incident as the bent coil. 

“Who hit you in the chest?” Bruce said.  “There’s  a bent wire right where the insulation is broken.”

Tony chuckled.   “Not bad, Doc.  Fucking gravity, that bitch.”

Bruce looked at him over the rim of his glasses.  “Watch out, she’s listening.”

Tony pointed to a dock connected to one of the displays.  “Put it there and JARVIS will tell us what he thinks.  You know what they say about second opinions, right?”

Bruce did as he was instructed and the display lit up with data as JARVIS ran through his diagnostics. 

“Will that take long?”

Tony shrugged.  “Twenty, thirty minutes.  I’m not going anywhere, so if there’s something else you want to do, this would be the time to do it.”

“Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

“Go ahead.  I don’t promise truthful or accurate answers, though.”

“Ok. I’ll take what I can get.” Bruce took a deep breath.  “Does it hurt all the time?”  He tried to ask as honestly as he could, dismantling his defenses so he could reach out to his friend.

Tony’s lips tightened, and his eyes darted away.  Bruce thought for a moment that he had failed, but then Tony’s expression soften and he turned to look at Bruce again.  “Most of the time.”

“When doesn’t it hurt?”

“When I’m flying.”

Bruce smiled.  “I should have guessed that one.”  He touched the skin on the edge of the reactor port.  “How does that feel?”

“Sore, right now.  Normally it’s just hypersensitive.”

“Just irritated then?”

“Yeah, nothing too bad.  Like a burn.”

“That’s a little more than irritated,” Bruce murmured.

Bruce had Tony track a penlight and checked his inner ear to make sure his balance was ok—with as many times as Tony was hit in the head, he had to make sure there was no permanent damage.  He listened to his heart and his breathing, and palpitated his abdomen. Tony moaned and groaned and complained his way through the exam, though Bruce suspected it was more to keep himself amused than anything.

Finally, he made his way back up to the reactor port.  It was easier to look at now that he was getting used to it.  Empty and gaping, it looked far deeper than he had imagined when looking at the specs and diagrams. 

“Actually, you’re in pretty good shape overall.  Has the pain been different than normal lately?  Or increased a lot?”  Bruce was beginning to realize that he was not really in a position to help Tony very much, beyond maybe teaching him some relaxation techniques to deal with stress and chronic pain.  He could talk to the SHIELD doctors about getting Tony on some medications to support his heart, and he started mentally running through a list of beta blockers. 

“Yeah.  My heart has been skipping beats.  I think it’s from the electrical interference, but sometimes it feels like I’m having a heart attack.  But JARVIS tells me I’m not.”

That was…not good.  “What else do you feel?  Do you feel hot or cold?”

“Both, sometimes.  And my hands and feet get really tingly.”

“Both sides?”

“Yeah.”

Bruce winced.  That sounded familiar.  “So I guess you can’t do an MRI or a CAT scan?”

“Nope.  And there’s too much weird radiation for X-rays.”

“How about ultrasound?”

“Tried that.  Too much interference from the electromagnet.”

Bruce nodded as his mind turned over the possibilities.  “It could be a panic attack.  Which is better than a brain tumor.”

One of Tony’s eyebrows shot up and he cocked his head to the side.  “I don’t get panic attacks.”

Bruce shrugged and turned away.  He started to put away the supplies he had found.  “I do,” he said.

“You cry at Disney movies, too,” Tony jeered.

“It was _Toy Story 3_ , you heartless bastard,” Bruce said.  If Tony was joking, it meant he was at least taking the topic seriously enough to put some thought into it.  So he kept tidying up and let the topic hang in the air. 

“Diagnostics are complete,” JARVIS announced.  “Doctor Banner’s assessment is correct.  However, the underlying cause of the secondary infection is unclear.  I suggest completing a decontamination cycle before reinserting the arc reactor.”

“Sounds like a plan, JARVIS,” Bruce said as he disengaged the reactor from the diagnostics dock.

Fixing the wire was quick work.  The insulation had to be painted on and cured with a UV penlight, and Tony let Bruce work in peace for a while, but, eventually, his voice interrupted Bruce’s concentration.

“How do you make it stop?”

Bruce didn’t pretend that he didn’t know what Tony was referring to, but he took a moment to think about his answer.

“I have certain rituals I go through that help distract me and stay connected to the moment.  I start to disassociate, and then I get scared that the Other Guy is going to fight me for control, so that causes me to lose control, and it’s all just a self-fulfilling prophecy. So I try to stop it at the first stage before it can snowball.”

“That sounds pretty scary.”

“Yeah.  It is.  But it’s getting better.”  He started on the arc reactor’s maintenance, cleaning the discharge from it with a soft cloth dipped in solvent before he could put it in the modified autoclave. 

Tony put his arms behind his head and settled in for a wait.  “Hey, have I ever told you about Yisen?”

And, suddenly, they were two old war buddies, comparing scars from battle fought long ago, scars that still ached when the weather turned bad. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the wonderful and thoughtful comments!


	12. Chapter 12: Dangerous Reactions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...now with more Hulk!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the update trouble. Here's the new chapter!

“I should really write a thank-you letter to Burger King.  I think it was that disgusting hamburger that really changed my life.  You see, the entire time I was stuck in that cave, eating God knows what ‘cause I didn’t ask, all I could ever think about was an American hamburger. After a while, I missed it more than scotch.  When I was lying on that cot, hurting so bad inside and out, I would fantasize about the perfect burger, dripping with ketchup and melted cheddar, crisp pickles bursting in every bite, maybe a little blue cheese mixed in the sirloin, and you know you gotta grill the bread in the grease…And the first thing I did when I got off the plane was have Happy take me to Burger King.  Ok I have to admit it may not have been the best choice of restaurant—I blame the Percocet—but I took one bite of that burger and it was nothing like what I was dreaming about all that time…days…months…I had this picture of some ideal Platonic hamburger in my head and nothing would ever measure up because it didn’t really exist.  It was a fantasy.  And in that moment, I knew that was what my life was like—fake, unreal shit.  And I made a decision.”

“It was a good decision,” Bruce chimed in.  Nice to know he was still listening.

“Yeah, it was, but I didn’t know that at the time.  And I ate three of those burgers and ended up puking my guts out all night.”

“You knew,” Bruce asserted with a small smile. 

It was so easy to talk to Bruce.  Once he got started, it all came out, from the ill-fated Fun-Vee convoy to Stane’s betrayal and his near-death from Palladium poisoning.  It came in stutters and stops, out of order, in spare moments.  But Bruce was never caught off-guard, as if it was as natural as daylight to be discussing life-altering burger-based epiphanies while he was in the kitchen making…

“What _are_ you making?”

“Grilled cheese sandwich.  Want one?”

“It’s pink and white and green. And there’s no Kraft singles.  What kind of grilled cheese is that?”

Bruce smirked and flipped the bread in the pan.  The grilled side was golden and crisp.  Tony’s mouth watered.

“It’s goat cheese, with strawberries, basil, and arugula,” Bruce said.  He slid the sandwich onto a plate and put it on the counter in front of Tony.  “Here, try it,” he said as he started making another one.

Tony poked it a little.  The bread _was_ hot and crispy and the cheese oozed a little out the sides.  He took a bite.  The warm, creamy cheese was the perfect contrast for the buttery crunch of the bread and the arugula, and the strawberries and basil were sweet and refreshing.

“Oh my God,” Tony said with his mouth full, “how do you know this stuff?”

Bruce sat down at the counter with his own sandwich.  “No take-out where I live most of the time,” Bruce said, his own mouth full.  He swallowed.  “It’s nothing special.  It’s all about using what’s in season.”

“I hear green beans are in season year round.”

“I hate you sometimes.”  But Bruce smiled, arugula showing in his teeth.

****

So, really, it shouldn’t have been any wonder that Tony found himself alone in his garage in the small hours of the morning.  Rehashing the old stories (to someone other than JARVIS and Dum-E) felt good, but it also brought up feelings he thought he had buried.  Apparently, the graves were too shallow for them to stay down for long.

He didn’t want to sleep.  He didn’t want to _try_ to sleep.  Bruce had gone to bed, at last, and left him alone in the fluorescent light—and even though the ‘bots buzzed and whirred, and the music blasted, it felt empty and echoing.  He shut off the lights and told Dum-E and U to go to bed as he retired to the couch in the corner with a tumbler in his hand.

Sleep was out of the question, so Tony messed a little with the color scheme for the Mark XVII—it would be ready for paint tomorrow—and read for a while.  But he had, somehow, found himself looking at the Project Snowflake files.

Tony spent a long time staring at the number and letters, hands hovering without giving direction.  JARVIS remained tactfully silent.  He probably was just as curious, Tony mused.  But he couldn’t do it.

“I have to tell him, JARVIS.”

“Yes, sir, it would be best.”

The clock read 3:47.  It was too late to bug Bruce.  Or early.  But Tony really didn’t want to sleep yet.

****

They never would know what set off the explosion.  There was simply no evidence left to analyze.

The Mark XVII was finished, the last of the bugs worked out, paint job slick and new.  It just needed to be armed.  One minute, Tony was talking to Bruce as the latter was connecting the primer to one of the suit’s repulsor cannons.  The next minute, a high-pitched whine pierced the air and Bruce’s eyes went wide.

“Tony!” he shouted.

Tony had no time to react as Bruce threw himself at him.  He shut his eyes instinctively and put his arms up to cover his face as the room was engulfed in an orange and white blaze. He felt himself being shoved to the ground by both Bruce’s body weight and the shockwave of the explosion.  The windows closest to them shattered outward, showering the street below with pebbles of safety glass, and the entire building shuddered once before falling still.

When Tony finally opened his eyes, all he could see was green.

The Hulk stood hunched over him, arms curled around him so he was completely enveloped, Tony’s face pressed tight against one massive shoulder.  Tony’s ears were ringing too much for him to hear his own voice, but he tried calling Bruce’s name anyway.  He was put—well, dropped, really—on the floor as the Hulk stood, and even in with the lab’s vaulted ceiling, he looked like he took up the entire shop.

Tony scrambled backwards on the floor, kicking bits of smoldering debris and hot metal out of his way as the Hulk drew himself to his full height and roared.  Tony pressed his hands over his ears because, yeah, even if his eardrums were busted, he would still be able to hear that inhuman howl.  He glanced to the suit—the only suit he had in the room since the rest were stored deep in the secret cellars of the Tower—to see that one arm and part of the side had been blown to bits.  Completely fucking useless.

In the meantime, Hulk decided to explore the shop.  He flipped over tables and knocked over a large Craftsman tool chest, causing a cacophony of clanging metal as the tools tumbled onto the floor.

“Hey Big Guy!” Tony stood up and shouted, and hey, his hearing must be clearing up because he heard that.  “Brucie, baby!”

The Hulk spun around to glare at him with gamma-green eyes.  “Not puny Banner!” he bellowed, and the force of the sound wave made Tony shake.

“Yeah, obviously not.  Remember me, Big Guy?  Hole in the sky, long way down?  Shawarma?”

Tony hadn’t really noticed that he was backing up until his back hit the wall.  Hulk followed, lowering himself to knuckle forward.   “Hulk not get Shawarma.  Puny Banner get Shawarma.”

Tony’s assertive posture collapsed a little as he considered that.  It was true.   “Yeah, Buddy, that’s not really fair, is it?”  Hulk grunted.  “What can I do to make it up to you?  You kinda saved my life…twice now,” Tony said, indicating the blasted suit and the general wreckage that surrounded them.

Hulk grimaced—no, no, that was a smile—and said, “Hulk not hurt Tony.”

And, wow.  Didn’t that throw Tony for a loop.  Hulk knew his name.  “Yeah, that’s right, Big Guy.  I’m not going to hurt you, either.”

“Sir, Captain Rogers is approaching,” JARVIS sounded alarmed.

“Oh shit, J, lock him out.  Tell him everything’s ok.  There’s a…reactor leak, yeah, tell him we gotta clean it up before it gets dangerous.”

“I will relay the message, Sir.”

Hulk sat down on the floor with a rumble.  “Tony ok?” he asked, surprisingly soft after all that roaring.

“Yeah, yeah Buddy.  We’re all ok here, thanks to you.” Tony took a couple of slow steps forward until he stood right in front of the green giant. 

One huge green finger came up towards Tony’s chest.  He forced himself to stand his ground, but Hulk didn’t actually touch him…he hesitated, finger hovering just out of reach.  Tony wrapped his fist around Hulk’s finger to hold it there and took one last step forward so that it was pressed right up against the arc reactor.  “It’s ok,” Tony said.  “You’re not going to hurt me, right?”

And Hulk smiled, broader so Tony could tell it was a real smile, and slowly began to collapse into himself.  He seemed to melt and fold like cardboard in the rain, turning from green to pink and tan right before Tony’s eyes.  It was the most fascinating thing Tony had seen in…well, a long time.  Definitely worth a blown suit.

It took seconds for Hulk to transform back into Bruce, huddled in the shreds of his pants and lab coat.  His eyes were closed, but his breathing was steady.  Tony’s knees gave out and he collapsed beside his friend, and if his hands were shaking, well, no one was there to see.

By the time Bruce started to come around, Tony had a handle of himself again.  He knew that Bruce was going to wake up feeling guilty and ashamed and just all-around shitty, so he tried to shove his own emotions aside so he could deal with Bruce’s.

Sure enough, Bruce moaned as his eyes fluttered open.  He sat up with a grimace and took in the scene around him.  Some of the wreckage was still burning.  In retrospect, Tony really shouldn’t have banned Dum-E from the fire extinguisher. 

“Oh my God!  Tony!  Are you ok?  Did I hurt anyone?”

Tony reached out to steady him, but snatched his hand back at the last minute.  He wasn’t sure if his touch was welcome right now.  “No, you didn’t hurt anyone.   You saved me.  Again.”

Bruce’s roving eyes found the destroyed Mark XVII and his face fell in dismay.  “Dum-E?  U?”

Tony pointed towards the far corner of the shop, where the two bots cowered together.  “Didn’t come near them,” he said.

Bruce sagged in relief.  It was only then that he seemed to realize he was sitting naked on the cold floor. The scraps of cloth fell through his fingers as he tried to gather them in trembling hands.

This time, Tony did reach out to fold his hands around both of Bruce’s.  “It’s ok.  Steve’s probably right outside the door.  I’ll send him for some clothes.”

“No, it’s not ok!” Bruce said.  “I could have killed you.  The suit is blown to bits! I could have destroyed everything you love and there’s nothing you could do to stop it!  There’s nothing _I_ can do to stop it!” 

He was getting hysterical, rocking back and forth and trying to take his hands from Tony’s grasp.  Tony didn’t know what to do, so he went with his gut and slowly brought Bruce’s hands to lips to kiss them.  His skin tasted like salt and dust and fear, but that shut him up.

“You won’t hurt me.  He said so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the thoughtful comments!


	13. Chapter 13: Learning the Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has only three rules.

The overall damage from the explosion wasn’t as bad as Bruce feared.  First of all, on a scale of one to Gamma Fuck-Up, the explosion itself barely registered.  Maybe it was three.  Maybe.  Secondly, the shop had been specifically designed the handle large-scale explosions, so there was no structural damage.  The Mark XVII itself was surprisingly easy to fix—since the designs were finalized, it was just a matter of melting down the ruined pieces and fabrication new ones.  JARVIS had it rebuilt and painted by the next morning.

His watch and glasses were utterly destroyed, so he went back to his old beepy heart rate monitor.

But Bruce couldn’t force himself to go back into the shop.  It was _his_ fault that the cannon blew in the first place, and then he had Hulked out in Tony’s workshop.  It was better if he just stayed away so it didn’t happen again.

Instead, he made excuses that he was busy with Steve, running and boxing, and now lifting weights.  But the problem with living with Mr. Tony Stark was that the man was magnetic.  Not in the sense of charisma and charm, though he certainly had that in spades, but in the literal electromagnet-embedded-in-the-chest sense.  Maybe it was a side effect of the Other Guy, or maybe it was a side effect of working around sensitive lab equipment, but Bruce was far more sensitive to electromagnetic fields than the average person.  And he was drawn towards Tony as surely as iron oxide in a polarized field. 

So it took only two days before he ran into Tony while raiding the Avengers’ kitchen. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“No, I’ve been avoiding the workshop and you never come out of there.”

“What’s the big deal?  I’ve done more damage fixing the blender.  It was an accident.  They happen.”

“Yeah, but when I cause an accident, people get hurt.  People die.”

“So is that it?  You’re never gonna come back?”

“Uh…yeah…I guess.”

One of Tony’s eyebrow’s shot up and his mouth twisted.  “Well, here, take this anyway.”

Tony held out a new watch and glasses to Bruce.  “It’s version 2.0.  I figured out how to put the sensors in the frames, so now you have a mini-HUD.  It’s still pretty basic…”

Bruce took them from Tony, turning them over in his hands.  He stared at the watch as if to scrutinize the differences between the old one and the new one, but really it was an excuse not to look Tony in the eyes.  “You didn’t have to…it was my fault.”

Tony must have noticed his downcast gaze because he grasped Bruce’s shoulders.  “You protected me.  I didn’t even get a scratch.  Not a blister.  Nothing.  I do far worse by myself.  If anything, it’s _safer_ with you there.  JARVIS made a graph…”

Bruce shook his head.  “I can’t.  I’m afraid it’ll happen again.”

Tony sighed. “Will you come to my room?  Or have I lost that part of you, too?”

Bruce’s breath hitched so hard that he had trouble forcing the next words out.  He wanted to tell Tony that it was impossible not to think about him, the sound of his voice, the rough callouses on his hands as they dragged over his back and his shoulders and through his hair, the smell of grease and hot metal toasted coconut, the expression on his face when he calls Bruce a good boy.  Bruce’s throat closed over a burning lump the size of a basketball and he couldn’t even swallow down the threat of tears, and then he couldn’t breathe, and his head rushed as he felt himself slipping away.

No, no, no, he told himself.  Not now, there’s nothing wrong.  He needed to hold on to something tangible to ground himself, something real that he could touch, and he ran his fingers hard down the rough edge of the metal watchband, but it wasn’t enough.  He was going to faint, or transform, or…something horrible if he didn’t get a hold of himself. 

So he sank to his knees—because they felt like they were going to give out anyway—and wrapped his arms around the back of Tony’s legs and pressed his face against his thighs.  A hand splayed across his back, pressing firmly so that he could feel it when he breathed.  That helped.  He counted his breaths and focused on the feeling of denim under his cheek, the pressure of the Tony’s hand, and hard floor under his knees.  Slowly, he came back to himself.  An eternity seemed to have passed, but it was probably only a minute or two of real time.

As soon as Bruce’s grip eased, Tony dropped to the floor beside him, but he kept his hand wrapped around Bruce’s shoulder.  From the look on Tony’s face, Bruce could tell the engineer figured out what was going on.

“What can I do to help?” Tony asked.

“Nothing.  You’re doing it.  I’m ok,” Bruce said.  “I’m sorry.”

“Can you get up?”

Bruce nodded.  He pushed himself to his feet, and his legs held even though he felt a bit shaky.  Tony took his hand and led him to the elevator to the penthouse.  He didn’t drop it until he left Bruce standing on the step down to the living room.

Tony turned to face him.  “It’s time to teach you some rules.  First rule: your place is at my right side.  Unless I tell you differently, that’s where you belong.”

That would be easy. 

“Second rule: no talking without permission, except for safe words.”

Bruce nodded.  No talking meant that he didn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing even if it meant that his opinion wasn’t exactly wanted.  That…wasn’t too bad.  Anyway, Tony was the type of person to read more into actions than words, so there were other ways to communicate if he had the need.

“Third rule: now this is going to be hard, but you can do it.  Whenever I praise you and it makes you feel strange or awkward or ashamed, I want you to look at me and say ‘Thank you, Tony.’  This is also an exception to the ‘no talking’ rule.”

Bruce’s mouth pressed into a thin line.  That last one was going to be difficult.  But Tony had been so kind, so gentle through all of this, that if it made Tony happy, he would try. 

Tony looked Bruce straight in the eyes.  “Tell me now, do you have any objections?”

Bruce shook his head.

“Answer me out loud,” Tony said.

“No.”

“Do you have any questions?”

“What happens if I break a rule?”

Tony’s smile was wicked.  “You won’t.  You want to obey the rules.  You want to be a good boy, don’t you?”

Bruce could feel his cheeks burning, but he nodded.

“You are gorgeous when you blush,” Tony said, and his voice was deep and hoarse with desire.

Shame and vulnerability flared up at those words.  Bruce licked lips gone suddenly dry and said, “Thank you, Tony.”  It came out half a whisper and half a stutter, but Tony seemed pleased nonetheless.

“That’s right, just like that.  Now come here.”

Tony sat on the couch and tossed a cushion on the floor by his right foot.  He picked up the remote for the TV (since when did Tony use remotes?) and started flipping through the movie channel guide.  Bruce paused for a moment to toe off his loafers (no rules about shoes, so that was ok, right?) and stepped down into the sunken living room. Tony was sitting on the far right of the couch, arm draped lazily over the armrest, so it was obvious that he didn’t mean for Bruce to sit on the couch with him.  He folded his knees to sit in a half-lotus on the cushion and rested his back against the armrest.  Tony hummed in approval, but otherwise didn’t move or acknowledge him.

Eventually, Tony settled on _Sherlock Holmes_ and tossed the remote aside.  They watched the movie in silence for so long that Bruce wondered if Tony had fallen asleep.  Twisting around to look, he was met with a warm smile.

“Everything ok?” Tony asked.

The “yes” caught in Bruce’s throat.  No talking.  He nodded instead, and Tony’s smile warmed even more.

“Good boy.”

A warm flush spread through Bruce’s chest.  He turned back around and settled against the couch.  After a moment, a hand lightly touched his hair, twirling the longer curls between nimble fingers.  The constant, rhythmic movements made Bruce think that Tony needed something to do with his hands and he just happened to be available.  But, at the same time, it was incredibly soothing.  Gentle pressure guided his head sideways until his left side rested against Tony’s leg.  It felt awkward and tense and stiff, and Bruce’s breathing quickened.  But Tony’s hands didn’t stop twining in his hair, and he let the pleasant tingles in his scalp and the warmth of Tony’s thigh under his cheek remind him that he was in no danger.  Slowly, he began to relax.

Halfway through the movie, keeping his eyes open was a struggle.  The movie itself was entertaining, but Tony had moved on from running a hand through his hair to massaging his neck.  Strong fingers kneaded the muscles right where his head met his neck before stroking the tendons from the base of his skull down between his shoulder blades.  It felt like he was squeezing all the endorphins from his brain and releasing them down into his body.  He bit his lip to keep from moaning aloud…it wasn’t talking, but he really would rather not take chances.

“Do you like that?” Tony said.  His voice came from somewhere behind and above him, and it sounded very far away.

Bruce nodded against Tony’s leg. 

“Would you like more?”

Bruce nodded again.

Tony moved down so he was sitting on the opposite end of the couch.  Bruce climbed onto the couch and Tony guided him down so he was lying with his head in his lap.  The movie continued and Tony absently stroked under Bruce’s shirt, up his back, across his stomach, and down his side.  Then sure fingers unbuttoned his pants, but Bruce was too far sunk in a haze of comfort to be concerned.  Tony didn’t go very far, just loosening them so he could run his fingertips under the waistband, tickling the spot above his tailbone until Bruce squirmed.

“More?”

Bruce nodded. 

“Move up across my lap,” Tony instructed.  Bruce was pulled up and across his legs so he was lying face-down on the cushions, his groin pressed into the space between Tony’s knees.  His hands were captured in a firm grip and held above his head.  From this position, Bruce couldn’t turn and see Tony or what he was doing, but he willed himself still. 

“Answer me out loud.  Whose fault was the explosion?” Tony’s voice floated down to Bruce.

“Mine,” Bruce answered.  His voice was muffled in the cushion, but Tony understood.

“No, it wasn’t.  But you feel like it was, and that’s real enough.  Would it help if I punished you?” Tony held tight to his hands with his left as he yanked down Bruce’s pants with his right, exposing him to the air as he rubbed his knee into Bruce’s groin.

Tears pricked at the back of Bruce’s eyes, but they didn’t fall.  He was used to being punished.  It usually didn’t even matter if it was his fault or not.  It was just his role in life.

“Yes,” he answered.

Bruce was prepared for the crack of a palm on his ass, but it didn’t come.  Instead, Tony brushed lightly, making him shiver and shake.  He sagged with relief once he realized the blow wouldn’t come.

“Shh…” Tony soothed his shaking muscles with more soft touches. “I told you I wasn’t going to hurt you.  Say it.”

“You’re not going to hurt me,” Bruce repeated. He wasn’t sure until Tony said it aloud.

“Your punishment is far worse than that. It’s what you fear most.  You must come to the garage and spend four hours as my assistant tomorrow.  I need you.”

“No, Tony!  I can’t—“

“Hush,” Tony said.  “You don’t have permission to talk.  Now, do you accept your punishment?  Take the time you need to think about it before you answer.  It’s not a race.”

Bruce fell quiet and let his head droop into the cushions.  Tony was silently watching the end credits of the movie scroll by and giving him time to think.  Four hours wasn’t a long time.  And then the matter would be settled, and Tony couldn’t hold it over his head anymore even if he wanted to.  Maybe he would even feel better about it if he paid his due…well, part of it anyway.

He nodded.

“Say it out loud,” Tony said.

“Yes, I accept my punishment.”

“Good boy.” Bruce couldn’t see his face, but Tony sounded genuinely pleased.

Bruce’s wrists were released and Tony flipped him over so he was lying on his back, his bare ass scraping against the groin of Tony’s jeans.  From the new position, Bruce could look up into Tony’s face.  He looked relaxed, happy, and Bruce hoped he was part of the cause of that expression.

“Now for the rewards.  You’ve been so good for me tonight,” Tony said.

“Thank you, Tony,” Bruce murmured.

Tony’s smile was beatific.  “What would you like me to do for you?  Anything.  You choose.”

Tony Stark—with all his billions, his power, his influence, his tech, his connections—what could he ask of him?  What couldn’t he ask of him?

But, really, there was only one thing Bruce wanted.  “Stay with me tonight?”

Tony melted a little.  “Ok, Snowflake.  Let’s go to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story as much as i enjoy reading your comments!


	14. Chapter 14: Practicing the Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucky for Tony, Bruce is a pretty quick learner.

Tony helped Bruce to his feet and led him into his bedroom.  After working in the shop all day, Tony desperately needed a shower.  His chest felt tight, too, and hot steam usually helped. 

“Hey, I need a shower.  Care to join me? Or do you want to go straight to bed?”

Bruce ran a hand through his hair as he thought.  “Shower,” he said.

Tony led the way into the expansive bathroom.  He loved his shower.  Sure, the bathroom in Malibu was fine, but when the Malibu house had been designed, he didn’t know how important it was going to be to have a bench for when he was too tired or banged up to hold himself upright for very long, or how there really couldn’t be enough shower heads when he was trying to hose away alien blood.  This shower was a room unto itself, all black granite and stainless steel.  There were massaging shower heads along both walls, as well as the rainfall overhead and a granite shelf built along the wall. 

“My last apartment could fit in here,” Bruce said as he stuck his head in and looked around.

“Well now you know that you don’t have to run the Big Guy through a car wash if he wants a bath,” Tony said.

JARVIS started up the shower and the towel warmer in the corner hummed to life.  “If I may, Sir, there is a robe for Doctor Banner in the linen closet.”

“Right, thanks, J.” Tony pulled out a plush blue plaid robe and hung it on the hook beside his own.

Bruce didn’t have to be coaxed to strip down and get in the shower, shaking his curls like a dog.  Tony stripped a little more slowly.  He was distracted by the sight of the arc reactor when he took off his shirt.  The skin around the port was definitely more swollen than it had been before, though it wasn’t very painful.  And, of course, Bruce noticed as soon as he got in the shower.  The doctor squinted hard at him, but he didn’t say anything.

“So,” Tony said above the noise of the spray, “of everything you could think of, all you want is me?  You already get me for free all the time.”

Bruce shook his head.  “I’ve been having a lot of bad nights since the accident.  I…uh…think maybe it will help to have you there.  Maybe if you’re next to me, I’ll know you’re safe and the Other Guy can quit freaking out so much.”

Tony passed the soap and a washcloth over to Bruce.  It was a bit horrifying to realize that he had to ask which accident his friend was referring to.  There had been so many.  He decided to go with the most recent accident in the shop because it was just too sad to imagine Bruce having months of nightmares.  Sure, Tony had his share, but there was always so much work to get done, and he didn’t really sleep anyway.

And then he realized what Bruce was saying.  “You’ve been having nightmares about _me_?”

Bruce ducked his head under the spray so that his eyes were closed against the water.  Tony knew he was avoiding his eyes, but let him take his time.  “Yeah…mostly about this,” Bruce tapped the center of the arc reactor with a light finger.  That actually did hurt a little.

“Is that what’s piqued your curiosity all of a sudden?”

Bruce nodded, running his hands through his hair to wring out the last of the soap.

Everything, all of this, was for Tony.  He knew that now.  It was Bruce’s idea to trade knowledge of the reactor for compliance in Tony’s little touchy-feely experiment…and Bruce had given him so much, pushed back his limits, allowed Tony to try what no one else had managed to do.  He felt, suddenly, like he owed Bruce more, like nothing he had would be equal to the priceless gift he had been given.  And what was it worth to be a billionaire when he couldn’t buy happiness for someone who was worth so much?

“Hey, Brucie, up for a little more playtime?”

Bruce looked shy again, but after a long moment, he nodded.  “Ok, but only a little because we can’t bring the watch and the glasses in here.”

“If you would let me microchip you…”

“No.”

“Ok, let’s get out then.”

The water shut itself off as soon as they exited the shower.  Tony wrapped Bruce’s robe around him before slipping on his own.  In the bedroom, Tony sat Bruce on the bed and took out the little sensor, the medical tape, and the cuffs from the bedside drawers.  Bruce offered up his wrists in surrender, then after a moment’s hesitation, slid to his knees in front of Tony.

Tony taped down the sensor and buckled the cuffs.  “Do you remember the rules?”

Bruce nodded. 

“Say them out loud for me.”

“Stay by your right side unless you tell me otherwise.  No talking without permission, except for safe words.  And say ‘Thank you, Tony,’ when you say something nice and it makes me feel uncomfortable.”  Bruce’s eyes fell to the floor as he said the last part.

“Good boy,” Tony said.  He cupped Bruce’s face with one hand, tilting his head up again.  “You know you don’t have to be on your knees.  Unless you want to.”  He stroked the side of his jaw.  “Do you want to?”

Bruce nodded, leaning against his hand.

“Good.  You are irresistible like that.”

“Thank you, Tony.” Bruce’s voice was soft, but clear.

“Stay right there,” Tony said.  Bruce had left his Stark Glasses on the side table, so Tony got them and put them on.  The HUD flared to life in front of him, giving Tony a full view of Bruce’s vitals instead of a simple heart rate.  Tony was pleased with the upgrade, but now it was time to field-test it.  He went back into the bathroom and found lube and a washcloth.  He glanced briefly in his toy drawer, but dismissed the idea for another day. “Keep it classy, Stark,” he said to himself.

When Tony returned to the bedroom, Bruce was still kneeling beside the bed.  The HUD showed that he was doing breathing exercises, and Tony could see his heart rate, blood pressure, and cortisol levels falling steadily.  Huh…so that hippie breathing crap really did work, he thought.

 Bruce opened his eyes when Tony approached and sat on the bed.  He patted the bed next to him and Bruce moved up.

“Lie down on your back.  Give me your hands.” Bruce did as he was told, and Tony bypassed the straps and snapped the cuffs directly to the eyebolts in the headboard so that his arms were spread the width of the bed.  He looked vulnerable, eyes open wide and watching Tony’s every move.

The stubble on Bruce’s jaw prickled Tony’s hands as he stroked his cheek.  “Remember, there’s no such thing as a point of no return.  If you want to stop, you can say it and I’ll listen.”

Bruce nodded.

The robe was wrapped loosely around Bruce’s waist, so Tony worked the belt off and opened the front.  Bruce swallowed roughly, but his eyes darkened and his temperature rose a fraction of a degree.  It didn’t matter that he had just seen Bruce naked in the shower.  The sight of him open and waiting shot electricity straight through Tony’s belly.

One hand moved in soft circles on Bruce’s stomach while the other flipped open the bottle of lube.  Bruce’s eyebrows drew together in worry.

“So you’ve never…with a man?”

Bruce shook his head “no.”

Tony set the bottle down.  “Maybe I should ask stuff like this before I tie you to the headboard, but are you ok with this?  We don’t have to…”  Bruce opened his mouth but quickly shut it again.  “It’s ok. What do you want to say?”

“I don’t know about doing this with other men, but I’m ok with doing this with _you_.”

If Tony had a heart instead of a fucking battery, he would have cried. 

Instead, he slicked his hand with lube and stroked Bruce’s cock.  The HUD lit up like the Fourth of July, which prompted Tony to do it again, just to compare results.  And a third time because, you know, sample size. 

Bruce was rock hard and gasping, so Tony sat back to give him a moment.  The readouts slowly returned from orange to green. 

“Color?”

“…green?” Bruce peeked one eye open to look at him.

“Good boy.”

Tony set a leisurely pace, rubbing his thumb in circles around the head before brushing his fingertips up and down the sides.  Just enough to tease, but not enough pressure to set him off just yet.

He drew back to urge Bruce to bend his knees so he could press a lubed finger just against the puckered muscles of his entrance.  Bruce gasped and the muscle pulled tight.  Tony added more lube and pressed his index finger against the resistance.  All at once, the muscle gave way with a startled cry from Bruce and his finger slid inside. 

 “Yellow,” Bruce cried out. 

So Tony stilled, waiting until Bruce’s body stopped shaking inside and out and the HUD read mostly green across his vitals.  It didn’t take long before Tony could move his finger a bit, searching for the spot he knew was there.  He knew he had it when Bruce bucked hard again, but this time he was prepared and held him tight so that his finger wasn’t dislodged.

Tony brushed lightly over the gland again.  “Color?”

“Green,” Bruce said though his voice was muffled because his face was pressed into his arm. 

Tony pressed harder, making Bruce squirm.  “Green!” Bruce gasped

He added another finger, wiggling them deep.  He could feel the nub of his prostate and he widened his fingers so that it was trapped between them.  Bruce’s breathing started to come in sobbing pants, and his vitals went wild, thought JARVIS didn’t think it was necessary to issue a warning.  Still,  Tony paused to ask, “Color?”

“Green!  Fucking green! Please, Tony, please!” Bruce declined into babbling nonsense.  “Oh, please fucking Tony please Tony please, oh God, please…” as Tony curled his fingers, manipulating him from the inside.   Bruce was so tight, his body clenching and releasing in steady waves, and he was so responsive, the slightest twitch of the fingers buried deep inside eliciting stuttering cries and moans. 

Tony suddenly withdrew completely, leaving Bruce’s stomach clenching and forcing a soft whimper from his lips.

“No talking.  You can make all the noise you want, but no words except safe words.”

Bruce’s eyes shown back at him, dark and pleading as he nodded vigorously.  A little more lube, and his fingers slid deep again.  Bruce’s head fell back onto the bed.

“I could make you come just like this,” Tony said, amazed.  “You are so sensitive.  It’s beautiful.”

Bruce was abruptly silent, and Tony could feel him tense around his fingers, so he curled them hard, dragging them sharply across the sensitive gland.  Bruce yelped and yanked against the cuffs, but they held, and the way his muscles clenched so tight sent shocks of desire straight to Tony’s cock. 

“T-t-thank you, Tony,” Bruce gasped, voice on the verge of sobs, but he didn’t say his safe word. 

“Good boy,” Tony murmured, probing gently again.  “I want to do this to you for hours.  I want to find every spot inside you and figure out which nerves are connected to where.”  He pumped his fingers in and out, turning Bruce’s moans to quiet whimpers.

“Shh…” Tony soothed.  “It’s ok.  I’m taking care of you.  How do you want to cum, Brucie?  I’ll make it good for you.”

Bruce could barely get enough breath to answer. “How—however you—you want me, Tony.”

Tony felt a thrill shoot down his spine at the sound of those words.  Bruce truly was a quick learner.  He growled and ground his fingers deep before withdrawing them again.  Bruce groaned. 

Tony got up to unhook Bruce, but the snap was twisted and jammed. He saw a spike of adrenaline and heart rate on the HUD, and he knew Bruce realized he was stuck.  But he didn’t struggle, and Tony took only a second to pop it back into place and unlatch it. 

“Hey, sorry.  I didn’t use the quick-release straps.  That was dumb of me.”

But Bruce just smiled a little and shook his head dismissively. 

“Turn a little.”

Tony turned him onto his left side and brought his wrists together overhead.  He fished one of the safety straps out from where it was stuck under the mattress and used it to pull his arms tight to the headboard. The lube was lost in the sheets, so it took him a moment to find it and lay down on the bed behind Bruce.  Reaching down, he took Bruce’s knee and pulled it up towards his chest while he slipped his left leg under Bruce’s hip, levering him up a bit so he could reach around for his dick.  Bruce really wasn’t that big of a guy, so he could easily reach his right hand around and pour the lube into his left.  Soft, languid strokes soon had the HUD sparking in time to Bruce’s breathy moans. 

With more lube, he pressed two fingers back into Bruce’s ass, still slick and open to his touch.  He scissored them back and forth, experimenting with shallow and deep strokes, fast and slow, in time with the strokes on his cock and countertime.  His favorite, so far, was when he let go of Bruce’s dick completely and pressed low on his belly to feel the muscles flutter and contract in synchronization with the way Tony caressed the sweet spots inside him. 

And the new HUD was a piece of genius, if he did say so himself.  Once he got a good baseline, he could read the responses of Bruce’s body like a Dr. Suess book.  Sure, some of it made no sense, but the message was still crystal clear.  Which meant that he could keep Bruce right on the edge of orgasm without going too far.

Bruce grew desperate, grinding his hips backwards against Tony’s hands and pulling against the straps in quick little jerks.

“Ok, ok…shh…” Tony soothed. 

But then he bit down on Bruce’s shoulder just as he thrust in a third finger.  Bruce screamed as he came, and Tony relentlessly thrust his fingers in and out as he milked him dry.  Bruce was reduced to sharp, moaning breaths and he tried to squirm away from the rough hands on his over sensitized skin.  Tony let him go.  He reached for his own cock and it took only a touch to send him tumbling after Bruce.

They both lay panting for a moment before Tony could muster the energy to reach up and pull the release on the strap.  Both cuffs fell immediately from the binding and Bruce looked at them with thought before turning around and holding his wrists out to Tony.

“Well, aren’t you sweet,” Tony said as he unbuckled the cuffs for Bruce, even though he could have done so himself.

“Thank you, Tony,” Bruce said as Tony slid the last buckle free,

Bruce sat up and rubbed his wrists a little.  He absently plucked off the tape and the sensor and put them on the table before putting on his watch.  Tony gave him back the glasses and fixed the robe so it was sitting correctly on his shoulders.

“This is a mess,” Bruce said, surveying the twisted, stained sheets.  He got up and stretched, and if the robe fell open, well then lucky Tony.  “Where are the extra sheets?”

Tony looked at him askance.  “Your bed.”

Bruce agreed that an elevator ride was less hassle than changing the sheets, so they trundled off to his room downstairs to sleep.  And they both slept through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your thoughts and comments are so encouraging! Thank you!


	15. A Little Regular Maintenance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has a chance to use some old skills and pick up a few more, too

Chapter 15:

“Special delivery!” Clint’s voice rang out across the gym. 

Bruce and Steve were in the ring.  Steve was showing Bruce how to evade an opponent, and Bruce was becoming quite adept at sliding around and under Steve’s long reach.  They paused and dropped their hands when they saw that both Clint and Natasha had entered the gym.  Though dressed in street clothes, they had the worn, weary look of a freshly-completed mission, and Clint carried his duffle over his shoulder, quiver in hand.

Steve leaned over the ropes, letting his arms hang over the side.  “Hey, good to see you both in one piece.”

“Is that _Banner_?” Clint said.

Steve drew himself up to his full height.  “Yes.  We’re boxing.”

Clint grinned, but Natasha elbowed him hard in the side before he could say anything.  She dug into Clint’s duffel and came out with a brown paper bag. 

“Just the person we’re looking for anyway.”  She set the bag down on the bench.  “It took longer than I thought it would.  Someone was asking for a medical license, but Fury fixed it.”

Bruce chuckled.  “I guess throwing around the phrase ‘enormous green rage monster’ tends to get one what one wants.”

Natasha pulled herself up into the ring and leaned her weight against the ropes.  She crossed her arms and smiled at Bruce.  “No, he thought it would be less trouble to just have your license reinstated.”

“He what? I lost it after the accident…”

“Which never happened.  Officially, at least.  So, like I said, it was less trouble.”

Steve clapped him on the back.  “Now I just have to reenlist and earn my stripes the real way, and we’ll be even.”

Bruce laughed.  It bubbled up out of him so quickly that he slapped his hand over his mouth—which was encased in a boxing glove, so it just made him laugh even harder since he basically just punched himself in the face, which made Clint and Steve crack up hard.

He was being silly and frivolous, Bruce knew.  His license still wasn’t worth much—he needed his medical experience the most when he was on the lam, and he could never use his real name then.  And, in the places he was needed most, no one cared about whether or not he had a current license.

Natasha took Bruce’s gloved hands and worked them off one by one.  “So,” she said as she threw the gloves aside.  “What has the good captain been teaching you while we’ve been gone?”

Bruce looked to Steve, who took one look between Natasha and Bruce.  “Uh…I’m just going to…go over…somewhere else.”

“Steve…” Bruce said.

“Ten minutes.  She can’t do…much…in ten minutes.  You’re good.  You’re fine.”  But he patted Bruce’s back in consolation. 

Natasha gave him a little nod.  Steve held the ropes for Clint to climb through before lowering himself through and heading towards the heavy bag in the corner.

“So, Doc, tell me what you know.”

“Uh…not much, really.  A little jiu-jitsu.  Mostly defensive, some throws.  Something to help me get away if I’m cornered.  And now Steve’s been showing me jabs and crosses and uppercuts…but I haven’t been at it for long.”

“Not bad,” Clint said.  “Show me.”

Bruce wasn’t prepared for Clint to come at him, but he managed to drive his hip into Clint’s side and use his forward momentum to carry him up and over.  Clint was too agile for such a simple move and twisted easily to his feet before hitting the ground.  Still, he gave Bruce an appraising look.

Natasha watched them both, posture easy and arms crossed loosely across her chest.  She looked like a ballet teacher, Bruce thought. “Have you done anything like that with Steve?”

“No, just boxing.”

“You could get him with that move.  If you got inside his reach, you could do it,” she said.

Bruce shook his head.  “No way.”

“When he comes back, you should try,” Clint said.  “I’d love to see you lay Captain America on his ass.”

Bruce could feel the flush creeping up his neck, and it wasn’t just from exertion. 

Natasha stepped in before he had to think of a response.  “What else can you do?”

For the next few minutes, he demonstrated his meager self-defense skills to Natasha with Clint acting as his attacker.  Flipping Clint was actually quite fun because the archer had an uncanny ability to right himself onto his feet or his knees, looking for all the world as if he had been in control of the situation the entire time.  Which, Bruce mused, he probably was.

Natasha watched and critiqued, pointing out bad form, but also showing him how to fix it.

Still, ten minutes seemed like an awfully long time.  By the time Steve returned to the ring, he was on his back, holding a cold water bottle to his forehead while Clint looked like he was fresh from a nap.

“You could take Tony,” Clint said.

“Take Tony where?” Steve asked as he came into the conversation.

“In a fight,” Clint said. 

“No way!” Bruce said.

“I think you could,” Steve said.

“Stark fighting outside of the Iron Man suit is one of the funniest events I’ve ever witnessed in my professional career,” Clint said.  “First of all, he has a giant spotlight in the middle of his chest that he doesn’t bother to cover up during night ops.”

“And,” Natasha chimed in, “he can’t shoot anything without a computer targeting system to aim for him.”

“He has no technique.  He runs on pure shock and awe.  That man is a surprisingly charismatic, snarky bull in a china shop,” Clint said.

Steve decided to keep his comments to himself, but Bruce caught the gleam in his eye and a knowing smile.  Still, Bruce mused, it was nice to know that Captain America didn’t talk trash, even if he was thinking it.

Clint toed him in the shoulder.  “Are you done?  Or do you want to go a round with Captain America first.”

“I’m so done,” Bruce groaned. 

He rolled under the ropes and slid to his feet.  Steve took his place, and Clint shook out his head and neck in preparation for some real sparring.  Bruce grabbed the paper bag from the bench and headed towards the door.  Natasha quickly excused herself and picked up Clint’s duffel before following Bruce to the elevator.

“So how is he?” Natasha asked, pointing to the bag.

“Oh, he’s ok.  Nothing serious.”

Natasha nodded.  “He closes off when he gets scared, and no one’s seen him for weeks…well, no one but you. It’s good to know someone qualified is looking after him.”

“You looked after him for a while.  You’re not qualified?”

Natasha smiled.  “Not in the same way you are.”

“Yeah, well, he’s fine.  Which is good because someone has to pay the rent around here.”

The elevator slowed to stop at Natasha’s floor.  “Well,” she said in parting, “take care of yourself, too, Doc.”

The doors slid shut before Bruce could answer.

****

Four hours of lab time was to start precisely at noon and end at 4pm. At 11, JARVIS reminded him that a good lab assistant shows up with coffee.  At 11:30, he was informed that, since it was close to lunch, he should probably make sandwiches.  And Tony wanted turkey.  With Swiss.

So, at 11:55, he arrived at Tony’s workshop with a plate full of turkey and Swiss sandwiches (and just cheese and veggies for himself) and the brown bag Natasha brought when he heard a clanging commotion from inside and the door locked.  He tried the override code, but JARVIS shut him out.

“I’m sorry, Doctor Banner, but I am not allowed to let you in until precisely noon.”

“It sounds like Tony’s killing himself in there.” 

“I assure you, if that was the case, I would not have told you to make sandwiches.”

Bruce chuckled.  He had to admit, JARVIS was right.

Right when his watch hit 12, the door slid open.  It was pitch dark in the workshop, but a cloud of white smoke billowed out of the doorway low on the floor. 

“Tony?” Bruce called.

When he stepped into the workshop, it was as if the entire workshop had been turned into a rock concert.  Laser lights beamed complicated patterns across the smoky floor and the ceiling, and the beginning chords of a rock song blared through every speaker in the room.

“Tony?  What is this?” Bruce shouted over the music, but he couldn’t find his friend.

Just then, Pat Benatar’s voice rang out from the speakers: “You’re the right kind of sinner/to release my inner fantasy/the invincible winner/and you know that you were born to be.”  The windows folded back just as Iron Man streaked into the room, landing in his signature three-point crouch just as the chorus hit:  “You’re a heartbreaker, dream maker, love taker…”

JARVIS announced: “Iron Man presents the Mark XVII, codename Heartbreaker.”

Iron Man stood to reveal the gleaming, newly-minted armor, polished to a lustrous sheen.  He lifted off the ground a few feet, turning slowly so Bruce could admire him in all his glory.  Patterned lights in blue, red and green reflected and refracted off the metal, making the entire room look like the inside of a kaleidoscope.  The suit was huge.  And powerful.  And beautiful.

The music faded into the background and Tony lowered himself back down so that he was face-to-face with Bruce, almost touching.  In the Iron Man suit, Tony stood a full head taller than Bruce, so that left him eye level with the arc reactor. The faceplate retracted to reveal Tony looking down expectantly. 

They stayed there for a long moment, staring into each other’s eyes, each one waiting for the other to be the first to break the silence.

Tony’s eyes flashed with the reflected titanium and gold, his mouth curling into a small smile… The moment drew on…

…then it was too long…awkwardly so. Bruce couldn’t think of something to say that wouldn’t seem weird after the long silence, and he wanted to look away, but it would be rude to break eye contact (deep, meaningful eye contact, Banner, put some effort into it).  But they were standing there for a while now.  It was the second time through the song.

Eventually, Bruce held up the plate.  “I made you a sandwich.”

Tony let his head fall back and he groaned a little. The music cut out completely and the fluorescent overhead lights came on to reveal the smoke machine shoved under the table and the laser lights installed hastily in the ceiling.  With duct tape and cable ties, apparently.

Tony motioned for him to step back before the armor peeled itself open to allow Tony to step out.  Bruce led the way to the couch with the food.  As he walked he hummed to himself “Rock Lobster.”

“Shut up,” Tony said.  “Really, it’s not a fucking lobster.”

***

As his punishment, Bruce was assigned coffee duty and “Dum-E Duty,” which involved keeping the bot out of Tony’s way as he and U filmed a few test maneuvers in the new suit.  Dum-E, he was told, got a bit jealous when left out, and he was no longer to be trusted with the fire extinguisher.

So, he gave the bot an oil change to start.  JARVIS showed him how over the Stark Glasses display.  He didn’t know how Tony could use the HUD to its full capacity—even after he asked JARVIS to pare it down to the most basic display, he was still on the brink of sensory overload at times.  But he was starting to get used to it, and the way JARVIS could display the diagrams right over his view of Dum-E’s chassis was enthralling.

So, after the oil change, Bruce changed Dum-E’s treads and cleaned out his bearings.  One was on the verge of breaking, but JARVIS showed him how to fix that, too.  Finally, after going over every part of Dum-E from top to bottom, he started polishing off the shop dust and grease residue.

Throughout it all, Dum-E picked at his shirt, his hair, his pants legs, and anything else he could get his claw around.  He lowered his visual sensor to watch Bruce’s hands at whatever they were doing, and he handed Bruce the tools he needed as he worked.  Dum-E reminded Bruce of the stray dog that adopted him in Brazil, and for some reason, that made the simple maintenance more meaningful.

A tap on his shoulder made him jump, which made Dum-E jerk his arm up in response.  Tony stood behind where Bruce sitting on the floor in front of Dum-E.

“It’s four.  Your time is up if you want to go,” Tony said.

Bruce squinted up at the clock.  The time had flown by.

“What did you do to Dum-E? This is not the same bot I left you with.”

“Did you forget what he looked like under all the dirt?”

“You’re right.  That’s it.  I’m guilty of robot neglect.”  But when Tony stepped over to Dum-E, he immediately clicked and whirred as if to tell Tony all about his afternoon.  “Yeah, yeah, I get it.  He treats you better than I do.”

“Oh, speaking of treating things better, I brought something for you,” Bruce said as he got to his feet and brought the bag over from where he left it by the door.

Tony sat on the floor next to Dum-E, so Bruce sat back down across from him.  He took several pill bottles out of the bag and lined them up in front of Tony’s knees.

He held up the first bottle and shook iT before putting it back down. “Antibiotics. Take them all and start tonight. This one,” he said, touching the cap of the next one, “is a beta-blocker.  It will help your heart.  If you’re having anxiety attacks, it might help a little with that, too, but that’s not what it’s meant for so it might not.  And no matter what, you need to learn ways to cope without medication or else it will just get worse.”  Bruce knew that from experience, and from the solemn look Tony gave him, he believed him. 

“This one,” he continued to the next bottle, “is a painkiller for good days.  No narcotics.  And this one,” he indicated the last bottle, “is for bad days.”

Tony picked up the bottles and turned them over in his hands, scrutinizing the labels.  He popped the cap on the first one and dry swallowed the first dose of the antibiotics.

"Bruce, thanks."

"It's nothing. I wish I had noticed before it got this bad.  But it'll be ok. After working with you I'm starting to appreciate that a little regular maintenance can go a long way." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be traveling for the next month, so updates aren't going to be as frequent for a little while. But I will still try to post at least once a week. As always, thank you so much for the comments and encouragement.


	16. Wants and Needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce doesn't always get what he wants...but Tony wants to give him what he needs

"We're going to a tech conference in Palm Springs," Tony announced over a tea and coffee break. "Pepper has informed me that I agreed to be the keynote speaker though I'm not quite sure when I agreed."

"We?"

"Yes. You're coming with me. Pepper is busy running my company in LA, Happy is busy as her head of security, and I need a PA-slash-bodyguard. That's you."

Bruce spluttered. "I can't be your new Pepper. No way. Can't. Wasn't Natasha your PA for a while? And she would actually be able to guard you."

"I want you to come. You need a vacation. We'll make a whole trip of it. I can show you the Malibu house, we'll take Heartbreaker out to the proving ground and blow up a bunch of old tanks, we'll have fun. Just you and me, Bruce."

Bruce took off his glasses and rubbed them on his shirt. That gesture, Tony knew now, meant that he was thinking, weighing options, using his brain and not his eyes.

"I don't know. What if someone recognizes me? I don't want to be asked questions I don't have answers to."

Tony rubbed Bruce's arm from across the table. He marveled a bit at the way the other man relaxed under his touch. Only a few months ago, he would have probably left the room if he had been touched like that.

"We can play by the rules. Stay close to me, don't leave my side, and I'll answer the questions. I'll take care of you, Brucie."

Bruce turned away a bit, but Tony caught his bicep and made him turn back. Bruce's arm was solid in his hand, thicker with muscle than Tony was used to. The flesh hardly gave when he squeezed. That was new. But Bruce put up no resistance and allowed himself to be pulled around to face Tony again.

"I don't have to talk to anyone I don't want to?"

"Nope. In case you haven't noticed I'm pretty good at making myself the center of attention."

There it was. Bruce's wry smile made an appearance and Tony knew he had him.

"That's not untrue," Bruce replied. "It's been a long time since I've been to a conference." Wistfulness colored his tone.

"Good. It's in two weeks. You'll love Palm Springs. Hot as hell, but you like the desert, right?"

Bruce nodded absently and picked up his tea cup. His eyes fell to the table as he traced the water rings with a finger of his free hand. "Speaking of the rules, I...uh..." he trailed off.

Tony's stomach sank a little. He hoped Bruce wasn't having second thoughts. As much as he initially intended to focus on Bruce during their sessions, he looked forward to them more and more each time. Witnessing him open up and become more comfortable in his own skin was the most powerful aphrodisiac he ever knew. Knowing that he was the one who was able to give Bruce what he needed was intoxicating--even more than meaningless hot model sex and bourbon combined.

"What is it, Brucie? You can tell me anything," he forced himself to choke out.

Bruce didn't look up. "I...uh...I've been having some bad nights. But when I'm with you, it's...better." He raised his eyes to meet Tony's and he was shocked by the sudden haunted look. "Can we...?"

"Yeah. Yeah we can. Whenever you want."

****

For the rest of the afternoon, Thoughts of Bruce, trussed, willing, waiting, permeated Tony's every thought. Twice, he had to resolder the circuit board he was working on until he threw the whole thing aside as a lost cause.

"I can't do this!" he said and buried his head in his hands.

Bruce paused and looked up, blinking owlishly from staring at the computer screen for too long. "Do what?"

"Anything except fantasize about throwing you over the table and ravishing you!"

A blush crept up Bruce's neck to his cheekbones. "JARVIS, save my work please," he said as he stood.

Slowly, deliberately, he walked over to Tony's workstation and moved over to his right side. With his eyes on Tony, he took off his glasses and set them on the table next to the discarded circuit board before sinking to his knees on the cold concrete floor.

"Oh, Snowflake," Tony breathed, "I must have done something right to deserve you."

Bruce's eyes fell to the floor, but Tony didn't miss the small smile on his lips as he whispered, "Thank you, Tony."

The engineer stood and stretched before reaching his hand down. After a second, Bruce took it.

"Come on," Tony said. "That floor is too hard for you to kneel on."

Then Tony pulled Bruce to his feet before spinning him around and slamming him face down on the table so hard over that the tools jumped from the impact. The movement was rough and fast, but Bruce was pliant under his touch and didn't struggle. Tony held him down with a firm hand between his shoulder blades. He leaned over his back, pinning Bruce with his weight until his mouth was beside his ear.

"Did I hurt you?" Tony whispered.

Bruce shook his head.

"Good boy," he said before nipping and licking at Bruce's ear.

Bruce's hands were flat on the table where he had tried to catch himself. One moved to tap the glasses, but Tony pushed them away to the edge. "No, I can't see shit out of those. I want to look at you this time. I want to see you, not a computer readout."

Bruce made a distressed sound in the back of his throat, but didn't say a word.

"Shhh, it's ok. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you." He rubbed soft circles through Bruce's shirt, moving his hands lower down his back and over his ass. "You're mine, and I take care of what's mine."

He heard Bruce's throat click as he swallowed roughly, and he gave his ass a hard squeeze in return. Tremors wracked the body beneath him, and Tony could tell he was thinking of calling it off, so he stilled, giving Bruce time to think and decide. The arc rector shifted in Tony's chest as Bruce's breathing deepened, pushing his back up against Tony's ribs. The ache was not unwelcome, though, because Bruce stopped shaking and relaxed against the table.

"Good boy," Tony murmured, continuing to knead the flesh under his hands. "Just relax."

Slowly, Tony worked Bruce's dress shirt out of the waist of his jeans. It was one of Tony's old shirts, silky white and purple stripes, and he was careful not to rip it because he knew it was one of Bruce's favorites. The thin material rustled as he drew it up and over Bruce's head, picking up each hand in turn to slip it off his arms before pressing his hands back to the table top.

Stretched out, muscles taut across his back and shoulders, Bruce's body had obviously changed. Not Green Gamma Monster changed, but his shoulders were heavier, his biceps and triceps clearly defined, and the muscles down his back shifted with every tiny movement. Bruce had always been lean, and he still had not recovered much body fat from years of near-starvation on the run, but now he looked like...a...well, a fighter. Tony ran his hands up and down his arms, his back, his ribs, reaching around his front to feel the beginnings of washboard abs.

"You've been working out? Ah, that's what you've been up to all those early mornings."

Denim jeans were no match for nimble fingers, and Tony made quick work of Bruce's pants and tossed them in the corner. The air in the shop was cool, and the sudden chill made Bruce shiver, so Tony chafed his hands over his hips, up his sides, and up and down his arms.

"Too cold?"

Bruce shook his head and pushed his hips backwards. Tony hummed in appreciation and kept rubbing. Eventually, Tony's hands came to rest again on his hips, thumbs wrapped around his hipbones to trace soft circles in the hollows there.

"You're beautiful," Tony said. "You feel so good to touch. I could do this all night."

"Thank you, Tony," Bruce mumbled into the table.

Tony kicked Bruce's legs apart so he could reach underneath and fondle his cock...which clearly had no interest in the proceedings. Huh. He gave it a few lazy strokes, but it merely twitched before settling back down to rest against a well-muscled thigh.

"You're not in the mood for this, are you?"

Bruce shook his head.

"But you offered yourself to me just because I said I was?"

Bruce nodded.

"Oh, Brucie," Tony said as he took a step back, releasing Bruce completely.

Bruce whined in return, staying in position over the table. Taking him by the shoulder, Tony guided Bruce upright, then turned him around and pressed him down to his knees again. Dark circles like bruises were clearly visible  
around Bruce's eyes now that he wasn't wearing his glasses.

"It's been a long day, Snowflake, and I should have listened to you when you said you haven't been sleeping well. You're exhausted, I can see that now. It's ok to not be in the mood. But what did you want, then, when you asked earlier? Tell me."

Bruce licked his lips and tried to lower his gaze, but Tony caught his chin to force it up again. "To feel you near. To sleep next to you and feel you touch me."

A sad smile spread across Tony's face. He dropped Bruce's chin and walked towards the couch. Looking back, he caught the look of confusion on Bruce's face before he scrambled to his feet to follow.

Tony patted the couch cushion. "Lie down here."

Bruce did as he was told, stretching out on his stomach. Once he was settled, Tony sat on the floor beside him. Starting at his shoulder, Tony traced feather-light fingers up and down Bruce's skin, stroking slowly.

"It wasn't very long ago that we did this for the first time. Remember how it was then?"

Bruce nodded.

"You've come so far since then. I'm so proud of you."

Bruce blushed again, but didn't try to hide his face. "Thank you, Tony," he said.

Tony continued, exploring the new topography of Bruce's back, the backs of his thighs and calves, the firm curve of his ass.

"It's ok to ask for what you want. It's ok if we don't want the same thing at the same time."

Bruce's eyebrows drew together in return, and his lips pursed.

"Tell me," Tony demanded.

"What about you? What about what you want?"

Tony carded his fingers through Bruce's curls, working out the knots. "This is what I want. I want you to be happy. We'll get to the rest. We'll get there.  Now try to sleep. I'll get you a blanket."

Bruce nodded and pushed his head against Tony's hand.

"See? This is exactly what I want."

 


	17. Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's had a long, hard day at the office, so Bruce helps him feel better.

 

The lab was intentionally kept cold—with as much sensitive machinery, computer systems, and explosives lying around, safety was more important than comfort.  But, Bruce mused, lying naked on a leather couch really didn’t help matters.

Tony ran a finger down his goose-bumped arm before draping a thick fleece throw over him, tucking the ends around his bare feet.  He grabbed a tablet and sat so that Bruce’s head and shoulders were cradled in his lap.  A firm, square pillow was pressed against Bruce’s chest.  He recognized it as the pillow that Tony usually hugged against his ribs when his chest was hurting.  Inhaling deeply, he savored the rich Tony-scent that filled his nose.  Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen him use the pillow in the days after he had given him the medication.  Hopefully, that meant that Tony was taking the meds and feeling better.

“Want some ambient noise?  Music?  Ocean waves?  Mosquitos buzzing in your ear?”

Bruce smiled against the pillow he clasped to his chest and shook his head.  He didn’t know if he was allowed to talk yet, but it didn’t seem necessary anyway.

Tony fell silent, too.  The only noise was the muted tapping on the tablet, the whir of the AC, and the faint hum of electromagnetic fields.  Typing one-handed, Tony used his other hand to card through Bruce’s hair, working out the tangles and twisting the curls, and slipping down lower in long strokes down his spine.  JARVIS was just lowering the lights when Bruce’s eyes slipped shut and he was sound asleep.

****

“Sleeping Brucie, wake up, Snowflake,” Tony’s voice floated down into his dreamless sleep. 

Bruce was awake immediately and shot up, almost knocking Tony down since he was leaning over, nearly nose-to-nose.

“Hey, I’m sorry.  Did I hurt anyone?” Bruce said, words slurred with sleep.

“What—why? No, why do you think you hurt someone?  I mean, you kind of drooled on me, but no harm no foul.”

Taking quick stock of the situation, Bruce knew that lying—naked--in a place other than a bed usually meant that he had passed out after an…episode.  But after a second, his brain woke up and he remembered.  He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes and yawned.

“Oh, wow, I was out for the count.  How long was I asleep?”

Tony winced.  “Only about an hour.  I didn’t want to wake you, but I have to go put out some fires with the hydroelectric people, and I didn’t want you to wake up alone.  So, hey, let’s get you upstairs and into a proper bed.  My room or yours?”

As he talked, Tony dressed Bruce.  He pulled a black Stark Industries hoodie over Bruce’s head and eased his arms into the sleeves, then pulled the matching sweat pants over his hips. 

“Fires?” Bruce asked.

“Not literally.”

“It’s hard to tell with you sometimes.”

Tony took Bruce to the penthouse, but relented when Bruce insisted on sleeping on the couch instead of in Tony’s bed.  He went to shower and dress, and Bruce allowed himself to drift, half-aware of the distant sounds of Tony moving around in the other room.  His nerves were still tingling from the memory of firm hands skimming along his skin, erasing the tension he felt building inside.  He focused on the memory of that energy, the buzzing warmth, instead of the anxiety that came from knowing that this, too, would end.

Vaguely, he was aware of the click of expensive shoes on stone approaching and the heat of another person standing over him.

“Asleep, Snowflake?” Tony asked quietly.

Bruce cracked opened his eyes to see Tony, dressed in an impeccable dove-gray three-piece suit with a violet tie and coordinating purple shades.  He was looking over the rims down at him.

Bruce nodded, feeling sleep already tugging him back. 

“Good.  While I’m gone, you are to rest.  If I’m still gone when you wake up, eat something and go back to sleep.  Because when I get home…” Tony let the last words hang in the air with the quirk of a smile and a raised eyebrow.

Bruce nodded.  “Ok, I’ll be here,” he said.

Tony’s slow, genuine smile unraveled all of the knots and tangles of emotions that threatened to strangle Bruce.  He felt calm, serene, in a way he could usually achieve only through meditation—or, lately, long runs—and it all came from knowing that Tony was sincerely pleased at the prospect of returning home to _Bruce_ of all people.

But the object of his musing was leaving out the door, flashing  a peace sign behind him just as the elevator slid shut.

****

Bruce _did_ sleep, and when he woke, he felt rejuvenated.  He followed Tony’s orders and made himself eat a bagel with some of the cream cheese he found in the bar’s mini fridge.  As he ate, he caught himself fantasizing about what would possibly happen when Tony returned.  He imagined Tony tightening the straps against the headboard, pushing his knees up to his chest to give him full access to his most intimate parts.  He began to harden as he imagined the feeling of Tony stretching him open with nimble fingers, squeezing his balls with the lightest pressure as he promised—yet again—that he would never hurt him.

And, suddenly, he was flushed with shame. He owed Tony so much for his patience, and for the time and persistence he put into convincing Bruce to not give up.  Thanks to Tony, Bruce was beginning to feel alive again.  He had purpose.  He had value.  But he couldn’t go for much longer without repaying some of what he owed.  And no matter how many times Tony tried to reassure him, he would always fear that Tony would think he was ungrateful, that he was taking advantage and being selfish.

But another part of him couldn’t shake that slow, sad smile Tony had left with.  That part of him just wanted to make Tony feel as good as Tony made him feel.  The more time he spent with the billionaire, the more Bruce understood how lonely Tony was.  The new knowledge made him reevaluate their first interactions, and he realized that Tony reached out for both their sakes.  His entire life, Tony never had anyone who truly _understood_ him.

But, despite his new revelation, Bruce could not figure out how to pay Tony back.  What could he give a billionaire that he couldn’t get for himself?

But, like Tony said, the things with real value can’t be bought.

****

Six hours later, Bruce was still waiting for Tony to come home.  He did sleep again, after throwing some chicken and sweet potatoes in one pan, and tossing cauliflower with parmesan and olive oil in another.  He set the pans in the oven and JARVIS assured him that he would watch the food while he slept.  He woke again, showered in Tony’s huge granite shower, and put on only the Stark Industries sweat pants, tying them low on his hips.  He fixed a spinach and strawberry salad and set it in the fridge to chill and asked JARVIS to keep the food warm.  Then, he knelt on the shag carpeting, palms up and resting on his thighs, facing the elevator, and waited.

Eventually, the elevator slid open and revealed Tony. One hand was jammed in his pocket and his jacket was slung over his shoulder.  He looked slumped, defeated and tired.  His eyes roved over the empty couch before finding Bruce.  The sight of him kneeling, half-naked, knees apart, head slightly bowed, stopped Tony in his tracks.  He dropped the jacket on the floor behind him and took two quick steps to stand before Bruce.  His face transformed, blossoming from exhaustion into a crooked smile that looked as though his wildest dream had just come true. Bruce let a return smile flicker on his face.

Tony took a knee in front of Bruce.  He was still higher because he was on the step above the sunken carpeting, so he bent down a little to reach Bruce’s face.  He held a warm hand against Bruce’s jaw, coaxing his head up.  Bruce was shocked to see the pure gratitude on Tony’s face. 

“What are your safe words?” he whispered, lips against his ear.

“Green, yellow, red,” Bruce answered without hesitation.

“Good boy,” Tony said, and a quick pang shot from Bruce’s gut straight to his groin, making his cock jerk inside his sweatpants.

“Is there anything you want to say before we start?”

“There’s dinner if you’re hungry.”

“Good boy,” Tony said, voice deep and husky.  He traced Bruce’s bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.  “You are perfect.”

“Thank you, Tony.”

“Will it be ruined if we wait?”

Bruce shook his head, slowly so as not to dislodge Tony’s hand. 

“Then let it wait.”

Tony stepped around Bruce and slumped into one of the black leather armchairs.  Bruce moved so that he was kneeling on Tony’s right side, facing him.  His heart was beginning to speed up in apprehension, despite the fact that he had not yet been asked to do anything at all.

“There’s some lube in the third drawer in the bar.  Go get it,” Tony said.

Bruce scrambled to obey, blushing because he hadn’t really thought of such things, and also because of course Tony would have sex supplies in the bar.  He dropped the bottle into Tony’s hand, but Tony grasped his wrist before he could kneel again.  

“Strip.”

Bruce took a step back and eased the sweatpants down his hips to puddle on the floor.  He picked them up and folded them over the edge of the couch before turning back to Tony.  He was half-hard just from hearing Tony say the word “lube” and the engineer’s smile broadened at the sight.

Tony lifted his hips off the chair and slipped off his belt before motioning Bruce to come closer.  Bruce’s heart leapt, and a tremor moved down his arms and out through his fingers.

“Lay down across my knees here,” he said.  “Good boy,” he murmured as Bruce settled into place.

Tony folded the belt in half and pressed it to Bruce’s mouth.  “Hold it,” he said firmly.  “And if you drop it, I’m going to use it on you.”

Bruce gasped a little at the words, which gave Tony the opportunity to shove the leather between his teeth.  He bit down on it, taking it from Tony’s hand.  The hand moved to the back of his neck, pressing his head down and holding it there.  Tony let him lay there for a while, feeling the vulnerability of the new position, the air on his upturned ass, the leather thick and warm and bitter against his tongue.  All the while, Tony rubbed the back of his neck, soothing him but at the same time letting him know in no uncertain terms that he was not to move.

The hand on his neck let go and light fingertips traced across his shoulder and down his arm to grasp his left wrist.  Tony twisted his arm up and back to rest in the small of his back, pressing his thumb against his radial pulse.  Bruce melted into Tony’s grip, giving up the last of his control now that he knew Tony could monitor him and stop him if he came close to losing his grip on the Other Guy.  He knew Tony felt him relax by the pleased hum that followed.

Tony shifted back in the chair, taking more of Bruce’s weight onto his lap before nudging his thighs farther apart.  Cold lube drizzled onto Bruce’s ass, sliding down the cleft to pool around his hole and behind his balls. He heard the cap click closed and sucked in a breath just as Tony’s finger scooped up a drip and moved to circle around the tight hole.  After a moment caressing, he pressed inside, gently pushing aside the protesting muscle until he wriggled his entire finger in. 

Breathing evenly was easy.  This felt so right.  After so many hours of fantasizing and waiting, the relief of finally having Tony here and connected in such an intimate way was like a cool drink of water on a hot day.

The belt slipped, jerking Bruce back to the present.  He clenched down to keep it from falling, and other parts of him must have clenched, too, because Tony’s thumb began to trace soft circles on his wrist. 

“Easy there,” Tony said, withdrawing his finger. 

Bruce whined…honestly, he didn’t know he could make that noise in this context…with loss until he felt the cold dribble of lube, heavier this time.  Before he could take a deep breath, two fingers buried themselves in him to their depths, scissoring and fluttering inside him. They had done this before, but never so suddenly and it burned.

“Ah! Fuck!” Bruce cried out as he lost his grip on the belt and it tumbled to the floor.  His heart hammered in his chest.  He really couldn’t believe that he had fucked that up.  Something so simple, stupid, he deserved to be belted for something so dumb.

Tony abruptly withdrew his fingers, but Bruce forced himself silent this time.  Without a word, Tony reached down the side of the chair to retrieve the belt.  Bruce’s breathing became erratic as he sucked in deep breaths to try to combat the sudden sobs that threatened to erupt from the back of his throat.  Tony felt the change in his pulse and his breathing and continued to rub the wrist he had pinned against his back. 

Bruce felt what that soft touch was saying: _Take your time.  It’s ok.  You can recover from this._

And, after a moment, he was ok.

By the time Tony reached to draw his right wrist back behind his back, Bruce’s equilibrium had returned and his eyes and throat stopped burning.  Then, his elbows were bent so his forearms were parallel to each other, and the belt twisted around, binding him into position.  His shoulders were pulled back, which made his chest bow out and unbalanced him across Tony’s lap.  But that wasn’t a problem for long because Tony took his elbows and guided him to kneel again on the floor.

“Stay here,” Tony said and left the room without as much as a backward glance to Bruce.

Bruce tried not to anticipate what would come next, but his mind raced with possible scenarios.  After a while, though, he began to wonder when Tony planned on returning.  There was no clock in sight, but his knees were starting to mind the position, even on the plush carpet.  And he felt alone.  Perhaps, he thought, Tony wasn’t going to return at all, and his punishment was to be abandoned until morning.  Perhaps Tony was testing how long he would last before he gave up on him.

His next thought was interrupted by Tony’s return.  He carried a box under one arm, and he was barefoot, but otherwise didn’t seem to have changed.

“Did Bruce move while I was gone?” Tony asked JARVIS.

“No, sir.  He made no movement except for breathing and blinking,” JARVIS replied.

Bruce could feel a blush heat his skin.  Of course JARVIS was watching them…he knew that JARVIS had sensors in all the common areas, and he had even allowed Tony to put them in his apartment, too.  But it was easy to forget how much the AI really saw.

“That’s my good boy,” Tony practically purred.  He took a seat again in the chair.  “Shall we try this again?”

Bruce nodded.  Tony motioned him to lie across his knees again, and Bruce obeyed immediately.  His movements were clumsy with his arms bound behind his back, but Tony’s hands on his hips helped him find a comfortable position.  He slid his fingers into Bruce’s curls and leaned down close to his ear.

“I’m going to stretch you out so that I can take you, and it’s going to be so, so good.  We’re going to do this right.  You deserve for this to be _perfect_.”  Bruce shuddered and grew hard at his words.  Tony reached underneath him to stroke his cock while his other hand snaked around to roll his balls in his palm.  “So,” Tony continued, “it’s really important that you don’t cum until I want you to cum.” As he talked, he drew a short leather cuff tight around the base of his hard cock, and fastened another strap around and between his balls. Bruce gasped and jerked up his head as the straps were tightened, but Tony’s hand returned to the back of his neck, rubbing again as he pushed his head back down.

“Give me a color,” Tony said.

“Green,” Bruce panted.  After the initial shock, he was hyper-sensitive, and he longed to grind his hips against Tony’s thigh.

“Good boy.” 

Tony’s hand disappeared from Bruce’s neck and reappeared to spread the cheeks of his ass.  Cool, silky liquid was poured directly onto his hole, dribbling down inside his thighs.  First one, then two fingers were eased into him, curling and twisting inside to test the reactions of the surrounding tissues.  He moaned brokenly when Tony curled his fingertips and pressed his rim in a firm circle from the inside.  Bruce felt like jelly, like he would melt through the spaces between Tony’s legs if he kept that up for just a little longer.  Tony was relentlessly in quest for pleasure, and he knew exactly how the machine of the human body worked in such situations.  Bruce couldn’t help but wonder if this is what it would feel like to be one of Tony’s cars, to have Tony’s hands deep in their engines, fixing them from the inside out.

Then, with a final twist, Tony’s hands were gone.  His ass ached with need and loss of stimulation, while his groin throbbed.  He heard the cap on the lube open and snap shut again.  Then, something smooth and heavy and blunt began pushing into his ass.  He whined and tried to scramble away, but his position gave him no leverage and Tony stilled him with a hand to the back of the neck.

“Stay,” Tony instructed as he continued to press the object inside of him.  After a second of resistance, the tip breached him, then the rest slid in seamlessly.  The widest part made him shudder with the ache of it, but Tony finessed it quickly past the muscle spasms. “This is going to hold you open so that you’re ready when I want to take you.”

Tony wiggled the base, rocking the knob inside against his prostate, and Bruce couldn’t hold back his gasping cries.  The more his ass contracted against the hard, invading object, the more relentlessly it massaged him from the inside out.  But strong hands held his hips, helping him through the spasms until he lay quietly again.

But, just as his body calmed, Tony stood up, effectively dumping Bruce on the floor, jarring the plug inside of him and the tight straps around genitals as he struggled to get to his knees with his arms bound.  But then Tony helped him to his feet and guided him to the bedroom.  Tony stopped in the doorway, but gave Bruce a gentle push inside.

“Go to the bed and choose something.  Bring it back here when you’re sure,” Tony instructed as he sat in a chair by the door.

As Bruce approached the bed, he saw a frankly embarrassing array of sex toys laid out.  There were several vibrators of different sizes, nipple clamps, plugs even larger than the one currently lodged inside him, a blindfold, gags, and other…things…Bruce couldn’t even name.  Bruce reached down for one of the more modest vibrators—when he realized that he couldn’t pick anything up with his arms tied.  He looked around at a loss for a second, turning to see Tony trying to hide a smirk by leaning his face on his hand.  Slowly, because it felt odd to move at all, he bent down and grasped it with his teeth before straightening up oh so carefully and carrying it back to Tony.  Again, he had to be slow as he lowered himself to his knees.

Tony’s smirk melted into a smile of adoration as he reached down to take the vibrator from Bruce’s mouth.  “My beautiful Snowflake,” he said, tracing the side of Bruce’s face.  “You are so very good.”

Bruce licked his lips to get rid of the plastic taste in his mouth.  “Thank you, Tony,” he said, his voice dry.

Tony’s eyebrows knit in concern, and he got up with a quick “Stay” spoken in Bruce’s general direction to fetch a bottle of water from the minibar.  He returned to stand in front of Bruce and uncapped the water.  “Drink,” he commanded, and tipped the water against Bruce’s lips, steadying him with a hand against the back of his head.

When he had enough, Tony set the water down, but continued to hold the back of his head.  Bruce took advantage of the position to rub the side of his face against the inside of Tony’s arm.  It felt…right and good to show that little bit of affection, and Tony didn’t seem to mind, so he did it again.

“Is there anything you want? Anything at all you need before we start?”

Bruce smiled and huffed a little laugh because, bound and filled and claimed, he thought he they had already started.  But, there was something he wanted.  Hesitantly, licking his lips, Bruce leaned forward to nuzzle the spot where Tony’s crotch met the inside of his thigh.  He felt more than heard Tony’s gasp, and he could feel the cock beside his cheek start to fill.  He looked up, raising his eyes without raising his head, to see Tony looking down at him with eyes dark and fathomless. 

Tony went so still that Bruce wasn’t sure if his intentions were clear, so he nosed Tony’s crotch again, nipping at his zipper for good measure.  His chin was caught in a firm hand, his face lifted to meet Tony’s gaze.

“Bruce, have you ever sucked a cock before?”

Putting it in such straight-forward terms made Bruce blush again.  He shook his head.

“Hey, you can talk.  Say anything you want.  Are you sure you want to do this.  You don’t have to.  You don’t ever owe me anything.”

Bruce smiled, letting Tony feel it against his thigh rather than see, and nodded again.

“Oh, my sweet, sweet, Brucie,” Tony said. 

He collapsed back into the chair and unzipped his slacks, easing his dick out.  He was half-hard, but really not much more impressive than Bruce himself was.  It certainly wasn’t red and gold and shot fireworks.  At least, not so far.

Bruce scooted forward so he was kneeling between Tony’s spread knees.  From this position, he could comfortably lean forward and take the tip into his mouth.  This was not as easy as he could have hoped without the use of his hands, so he started by swirling his tongue around just the head, first in one direction, then the other.  Tony groaned, and Bruce could feel the tension build in his thighs, so he figured he was on the right track.  He suckled the head, first with only a little suction, mostly holding him with his lips, before steadily drawing in until his cheeks were hollow.

“Oh, FUCK, Bruce!” Tony said, hands digging into the armrests. 

Bruce rose on his knees so he could lean forward more, taking more of Tony’s length into his mouth.  He misjudged, went too far, and the head bumped against the back of his throat.  Suddenly, he was gagging, fearing he was going to throw up, coughing and trying not to choke.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tony said gently, taking his head in both hands to ease him back and away.  He rubbed circles on Bruce’s back as he got his breath back.  “You ok?”

Bruce nodded.

“Wanna try that again?”

Bruce bit his lip, but nodded.  He snuck a glance at Tony’s face, and his grin was absolutely wicked.

“Good, but not now.  I want to cum inside you, and I don’t mean like that,” Tony said.  “Come over to the bed.”

Tony let Bruce struggle to his feet on his own, clearly enjoying how carefully Bruce had to move.  He swept the unused toys into a box and kicked it to the foot of the bed then placed the vibrator and a bottle of lube on the bedside table.

“Kneel on the bed,” Tony instructed.

Bruce obeyed, settling back on his heels in the center of the huge, satin-covered bed.  The mattress dipped as Tony climbed up behind him to adjust his position, widening his knees so that his bound testicles and the base of the plug rubbed against the covers. 

“Down on your chest,” Tony said as he pushed the spot between Bruce’s shoulder blades, forcing his shoulders down.  He turned Bruce’s head to the side, twirling his curls between his fingers just because he could.  “Now, just breathe.”

Bruce did, sucking in a deep breath before exhaling to the count of five.  He did that a few more times before he could start processing the new position.  His arms drawn tight against his back made it difficult to balance on his chest and shoulders, so he had to widen his knees to compensate.  His ass spread open and his cock and balls swung from their bindings.  He felt strangely unsupported, though he knew geometrically he was in a pretty solid position.

Tony started to massage his ass, squeezing and kneading the firm muscles.  “Mmm…” he moaned.  “Your ass, Bruce, should be put on display in the Smithsonian.  It’s a work of art.”

Bruce snorted before he could stop himself, only for it to turn into a pained cry as the plug was ripped from his ass.

“What was that, Snowflake?”

“Thank you, Tony,” Bruce groaned.  He could feel his asshole fluttering, trying to contract around something, anything, and he groaned again at the sense of loss.

“That’s better,” Tony said with a soft stroke down Bruce’s spine, ending in a circle around his stretched hole.

He was open enough now for Tony to pour the lube straight into his ass.  The slow spread of the liquid felt strange, cool tickling easing the slight burn left behind by the plug.  But then something larger, more textured was forcing him further open and Bruce groaned.  It was the vibrator, he knew, but it certainly didn’t look that large when it was next to the other ones.  Now, it felt like Tony was trying to force a baseball bat into him.

“Yellow!” Bruce ground out between clenched teeth.

Tony paused and backed off.  “It’s fine, Brucie.  You can take this.  You just need to relax a little more.  Do you want me to untie you? Answer me out loud.”

Bruce could feel his heart hammering in his chest, but there was no threat of green on the edges of his vision.  He took a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips.  “Only if you want me untied, Tony.  I’m ok.”

“You’re more than ok, Snowflake,” Tony said.  Bruce felt a light kiss against his bound wrists.

Tony added more lube, pushing it deep with two fingers and playing with his prostate until Bruce whimpered.  The vibrator was lined up with his entrance again, and this time the head popped in with little resistance.  He could feel little bumps and ridges catch on his rim as the rest slid inside.  It was big and deep, deeper than anything they had played with before. 

“Where are you?  Give me a color.”

“Gr--eeeen!” Bruce didn’t even finish the word before Tony pushed a button and Bruce’s world exploded in a paroxysm of stars.  His answer dissolved into a keening wail as Tony increased the vibration.

The leather straps bit into the sensitive flesh of his genitals as his cock bobbed and strained for release.  Tony used one hand to hold the vibrator and the other hand to trace his fingers around the bindings, tapping here and there to send electric shocks shooting through Bruce’s body.  He couldn’t decide if the burn came from pleasure or pain, but he certainly didn’t want Tony to ever stop.

Tony bit the tender flesh where his ass met the back of his thigh, growling deep in his throat.  The aggressive, possessive sound made Bruce’s dick harden even more.

“My turn,” Tony said.

He pulled the vibrator out of Bruce’s ass, and now Bruce was sure he looked absolutely obscene, rear in the air, legs spread, asshole stretched wide.  But Tony sucked in a breath in that way that meant he was impressed by what he saw, like when a perfectly restored classic passes him on the street, and Bruce’s nerves settled.

More lube, then Tony’s hand wrapping around his left hip while something hard and soft and slick was pressed against him.  And then Tony was the one groaning and panting as he pressed in, breaching his defenses with ease.  He paused and backed out about half way, and it felt like pure electricity lighting up Bruce’s nerves. Then, in one smooth movement, he slid in to the hilt and Bruce had to bite the inside of his lip to keep himself from crying Tony’s name.

“We’ll stay here for just a second.  Let us catch our breath,” Tony whispered, so very close to Bruce now.

Bruce nodded, not trusting himself with words.  He allowed his shoulders to fall forward so his forehead was pressed into the mattress.  His arms were starting to burn from being kept in one position for so long, but he was only now noticing it in his hyper-aware state.  The thought of his arms made him long to be free, to rip off the leather straps and come hard and fast.  After a moment, the intensity of the feeling faded as his heart slowed a little, and he felt the need to _move_.

He bucked his hips a little to get Tony going, but a firm hand grabbed the leather strap around his balls and he didn’t try that again.

“Hold your horses, Cowboy,” Tony said.  “Come here, sit up against me.” Tony wrapped his arms around Bruce’s chest to pull him upright.  They moaned in unison as Bruce settled onto Tony’s lap, his knees on either side of Tony’s and his own body weight impaling him further on Tony’s dick.

“We need a mirror,” Tony whispered into Bruce’s ear.  “I want you to see how beautiful you are.  They way you look, my cock up your ass, lips so red and swollen.  You should see what you do to me.”

At Tony’s words, a digital projection appeared on the wall in front of them, showing them JARVIS’s view of the scene. 

“JARVIS, you need a raise,” Tony said.  “Live stream only.  Don’t save any of this footage, ever.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Bruce said.  It wasn’t exactly a compliment, but Bruce needed Tony to know that his privacy was valued.

The projection was as good as a mirror. Bruce could see Tony sitting up behind him, and he looked every bit as sexed out as he felt.  He could see the look on Tony’s face, of adoration, and a little bit of pride.  His own face looked shy, but hopeful—which was a change from the usual despair he saw staring back.

“I’m going to untie your arms.  Don’t move too quickly yet,” Tony warned.

His arms were stiff from being held in position, but Tony massaged first one and then the other and brought them around to his front.   There, he slowly unbuckled the cock strap, sucking and biting on Bruce’s shoulder to keep him distracted from his over sensitized balls.  He rocked his hips to remind Bruce that yes, he was still in there, too.

Freedom felt strange at first.  It felt too loose, like he couldn’t quite contain all the pieces of himself without the leather to bind everything together.  But then Tony took his hands and rested his chin on Bruce’s shoulder, looking at him through the projection screen.

“I want to watch you touch yourself,” he said quietly.  “I want to fuck you while you jerk yourself off.”

Bruce dropped his eyes, and opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

“It’s ok.  What do you want to say?”

Bruce shook his head.  Whatever he wanted to say was lost to him now.  And it was silly, really, after everything they had done together.

“You haven’t touched yourself since the accident, have you?” Tony said, as if he had seen it coming a mile away. 

“No,” Bruce said.  “Didn’t want to for a…long time.  Then, it was too dangerous.”

Tony picked up his hands and brought them between his legs.  He took Bruce’s right hand and curled it around the base of his penis, covering it over with his own right hand.  He took his left hand and slid it under his sac to cup his balls, sliding his own hand underneath.

“Show me what you like, Brucie.  Teach me how to make you scream.”

“What if I don’t remember?”

“We’ll figure it out together.”

And Tony raised his hips and let them drop back, wrenching a groan from Bruce.  Tony set an easy pace, just a little stimulation to get them going.  Bruce’s balls were wet with lube, so he used the extra to slick around his dick.  Tony followed his movements while watching the show in the mirror.  Bruce started with long, languid movements, but he knew he wasn’t going to last long, and Tony had said that he wanted to hear him scream.  So he rolled his balls roughly, letting Tony feel how much pressure he used, how hard he squeezed.  Tony sped up his thrusts in return, hitting Bruce’s sweet spot consistently now.  So Bruce responded with sharp, quick tugs on his dick, pinching lightly under the head.  Tony followed those movements, too.  Bruce showed him all of his most sensitive places, and how to tease moans and groans from the back of his throat.  Every now and again, Tony would bat his hands away and grab him tight around the base to keep him on the edge of orgasm.

Bruce was starting to whimper continuously with need.  Tony’s slow pace kept them both rock-hard, but it wasn’t enough to push Bruce over the edge.  He was growing tired, muscles shaky from constant use.   Tony must have felt the way he began to slump a little in his arms because he released Bruce’s hands and lowered his shoulders back down to the mattress, bring his arms back to rest parallel to his spread thighs.  Fishing behind him, he grabbed a pillow and shoved it under Bruce’s belly, giving him a little more support.

“I’m not going to tie you again.  I don’t think you can move anyway,” Tony said.

Bruce hummed a little, but he felt like nothing else mattered but the feeling of Tony filling him up, connected to the root.  Tony pressed his head down to the mattress before wrapping his hands around Bruce’s hips and snapping his hips forward in one sharp movement.

Any stillness inside of Bruce was shattered as Tony set a brutal rhythm.  Even though they had taken so long to prepare, and let Brue adjust to Tony’s size, he still felt unprepared for the thickness of Tony’s dick.  His muscles tried to contract, to shut out the invader, but it only caused him to cramp in pain while Tony moaned at the clenching heat.  He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t get enough breath, and he didn’t want Tony to stop so he could catch his breath.  But, finally, one broke forth at the end of a sob, and he sounded like a broken, wounded animal to his own ears.

But Tony didn’t stop.  He lifted Bruce’s hips higher, changing the angle so that it felt like Tony was trying to fuck him right through his belly.  The new angle jammed into his prostate on every stroke, and the scream turned back into sobs.

He was coming then, but really he didn’t know if he was coming or not because this all felt like one, huge orgasm, and Tony still wasn’t slowing.  All Bruce could do was breathe and ride the waves of pleasure that washed over and over him.    Then, finally, Tony came with a shout muffled into Bruce’s shoulder, and then collapsed across his back with a hitching sigh. 

They lay panting for a while.  Bruce lowered himself down, hissing when his overly sensitive parts hit the damp sheets.  He turned them on their sides, Tony curled around Bruce from behind.  He shivered when Tony’s soft dick slipped out of him.  As the endorphins subsided a bit, Bruce could feel stretched and bruised muscles burning, but it felt strangely good.

“How was that?” Tony asked at last.

“Perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been reading. I really appreciate the support and the comments! The updates should come more frequently now/


	18. Games Superheroes Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why does Tony fill his house with monsters, assassins and spies? Oh yeah, because they know all the good games.

Bruce was already drifting, slowly falling asleep in Tony’s arms.  With regret, Tony untangled himself and slipped off the bed to fetch a warm washcloth from the bathroom.  Bruce would be miserable if he fell asleep in such a mess, and he looked too worn out to make the short journey down the elevator to his own room.  As gently as he could, Tony cleaned Bruce off to the tune of sleepy mutters and pleased hums before dabbing at the wet spot on the bed.  With the balm in the bedside table that he usually used to sooth burns and bruises earned from the workshop, Tony rubbed away the faint ligature marks on Bruce’s wrists and forearms, though he was sure they would disappear on their own before morning.

Bruce flopped over so he was facing Tony.  The nervous, hesitant expression the physicist usually wore was replaced with an easy, bone-deep satisfaction that transformed his features.  He looked younger, more peaceful in the half-light provided by the fluorescent city glow pouring through the windows and the constant glare of the unveiled reactor, even through the exhaustion.  Brown eyes blinked open to regard him.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” Bruce asked.

“Any time.  Really.  You don’t have to ask,” Tony assured him.  “But, hey, I’m really bad at the whole…morning after…thing.  So if I’m not here when you wake up—“

“I know,” Bruce cut off his awkward explanation.  “It’s ok.  I know.”

And the pressure in Tony’s chest eased because, even though they had slept in the same bed before, this time was different.  He could feel it, and apparently Bruce could, too.  That made him feel better. 

An obnoxious grumble from Tony’s belly interrupted his musings.  Oh yeah.  Bruce said there was dinner somewhere.

“Hungry?” Bruce chuckled as he began to shift off the bed.

There was no real resistance when Tony pushed him back down.  “No, stay here.  I’ll get it.”

JARVIS directed him to where Bruce had left dinner waiting in the kitchen.  The savory aroma of the chicken made his stomach gurgle again, and Tony noted that Bruce hade made a whole chicken, just for him.  And the way he felt, he could probably polish the whole thing off himself.  He wondered if Bruce had eaten already or if he had been waiting for him to come home, so he loaded one plate with double portions of the salad and vegetables and a separate, smaller plate with pieces of chicken.  He was pretty sure that Bruce wasn’t very uptight about meat touching his food, but better not to risk it.  He shoved two bottles of cold water in the pockets of his housecoat and returned to Bruce in the bedroom.

The room was dark, but he could hear Bruce’s deep, even breathing from across the room.  He was asleep.  Tony stood beside the bed, looking from the full plate to Bruce, curled halfway on his side with one hand flung out to the vacant space on the opposite side of the bed.  He thought for a second about letting him sleep, but the angle of the arc reactor’s light did funny things to the shadows on Bruce’s face, making him look pale and gaunt, so he sat on the edge of the bed.

The dip of the mattress woke Bruce, just as Tony knew it would.  He turned over so that his stomach was curled around Tony’s back.

“Hey, Brucie, can you wake up and eat something with me? This looks really good and it smells even better.”

“Mmm…” Bruce hummed as he pushed himself up onto his elbows.  “That’s for you.”

“I’m willing to share.” 

Tony held a piece of cauliflower out to Bruce.  Teeth nipped at his fingers as Bruce ate it from him, and Tony had to stop himself from snatching his hand back in surprise.  So Bruce was amendable to being hand-fed?  And, judging from the playful, satisfied smile adorning those full lips, downright _enjoying_ it.  As bits of roasted cauliflower and slivers of sweet strawberries were licked from his hand, Tony felt a quiet peace settle around them, a feeling like when he was flying in the suits or buried elbows-deep in code, a feeling that yes, this is what he was meant to do.

Bruce was asleep again before Tony was finished eating, so Tony pushed the dishes to the far edge of the bedside table and stretched out beside him.

“Good night, Brucie,” Tony said, pulling him in close.

“Good night, Tony,” Bruce murmured against his chest.  “Good night, JARVIS,” he added after a heartbeat.

JARVIS didn’t answer, but Tony could just _feel_ his AI’s glow of satisfaction.  And, somehow, that made Tony feel like holding Bruce just a little bit closer.

*****

The bed was empty and cold when Tony woke.  That was different.

Gray pre-dawn light filtered in through the windows as JARVIS gave him the time and the morning’s weather report.  Tony yawned and scratched his beard.  It always itched when it was starting to become unkempt.

“Hey, J, make an appointment at the salon.  And the tailor.  We have to look presentable for the conference.”

“Of course, Sir.  I’m sure your blinding good looks will distract from your lack of prepared keynote address.”

Yeah, he should write that sometime before showing up.

“I find your lack of faith disturbing,” Tony muttered.  “Set a reminder for this evening if you’re going to be a nag about it.”

“Reminder set, Sir.”

“Now, where is Bruce?”

“Doctor Banner is currently in the gym, as he usually is at this time every morning.”

Tony pulled on a tank and a pair of warm-up pants before stumbling down to the elevator.  His intention was to go down the garage and cover his self-loathing with the clang of metal and Metallica.  But, as his finger hovered over the button, he found that he didn’t feel nearly as badly as he usually did after a night of sex with random hotness.  No, he felt quite different, though it was difficult to pinpoint exactly _how_ he felt different.  So, since he was already in the elevator, he figured he’d take the opportunity to spy on Bruce’s workout.

The gym looked empty and quiet when he arrived.  He was about to leave when a voice called down from above: “Hey, Tony, look up!”

Up in the suspended rope course, Bruce, Clint, and Natasha were lounging like monkeys.  Bruce was relaxing in a hammock at the highest point of the course, arms behind his head and ankles crossed.  Natasha was doing the same across several loops of rope.  And Clint was hanging upside down by his knees, bow slung across his back.

“What kind of fuckery is this?” Tony called up to them.  Even from the ground, he could see Bruce splutter a little at his choice of words.

“Get your ass up here, Stark—if you can without your rocket boots.”

“Barton, you are going regret that remark next time my ‘rocket boots’ catch your falling assets.”

He looked for an easy access point, but it looked like the only way up was the single rope that looped down to the floor.  Had Bruce really shimmied up that thing? Well, if Bruce could do it…

So Tony huffed his way up the rope.  It was easier than he thought it would be—after the thousands of pull-ups he’s done, it better be—but it had still been a long time since he had flat-out climbed a rope and his chest burned a little when he was done.  Navigating the course was simple, and Clint reached down with one strong hand to grasp his forearm and pull him up the last few feet so that he could flop onto the hammock with Bruce. 

“So,” Clint announced as Tony caught his breath, “Bruce here says that he can evade SHEILD’s two best, most awesomely covert agents in Manhattan.”

“That is _not_ what I said,” Bruce countered.  “I said that I’ve gotten away from SHIELD agents before.”

“You _implied_ it,” Natasha added.

Bruce didn’t answer but laid his head back and smiled a little.  Wow, Tony thought, Bruce’s confidence really has gone through the roof.  He looked like he was on top of the world and not just the rope course.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Clint said.  He swung himself up so he was sitting on the rope, then pulled himself to standing, arms out like a circus tight-rope walker.  “I propose a game.”

Bruce’s head popped up again.  “What kind of game?”

Clint spun around on the rope, never even tottering.  “Hide and seek.  But like, way more fun.  With satellites and surveillance equipment and shit.”

A slow, wicked smile bloomed on Natasha’s face.  “It would be a good way to test your skills, Bruce.  We could give you some pointers on what you did wrong when we catch you.”

Bruce looked positively offended.  “ _When_ you catch me?” he scoffed. But he matched her smile.

This, Tony thought, is why he invited assassins, spies, and monsters into his house.  It was so much more interesting.

“We need rules,” Tony cut in.

“Who made you Captain America?” Clint countered.  “But ok, what is fair and what isn’t?”

“I get the suit!” Tony said immediately.

Bruce laughed.  “That’s why you want to make the rules, huh?”

Tony gave him a sly half-smile.  “Brucie, I always make the rules.”

Bruce shut up quickly, red creeping across his cheekbones under the rims of his glasses.

“Fine,” Clint said.  He looked hard at Bruce’s face but didn’t comment further.

“What kind of SHIELD resources are fair to use?” Natasha wondered aloud.

“No, no, forget what I said earlier.  This should be a field skills game,” Clint said.  “Bruce’s skills at evading capture versus our skills at hunting down our quarry.  No satellite tracking, no electronic monitoring, just old-fashioned cat and mouse.”

“What about Bruce?” Tony asked.  “What are his rules?”

“Are we going for realism?” Bruce said.

“Yes,” the three others answered at once.

“Ok, then I should be limited to what’s in my pockets.  I don’t usually get a lot of time to gather my things.”

At those words, Tony’s stomach dropped a little.  This wasn’t really a game, no matter how high-spirited and flippant Bruce’s tone was.  This was Bruce’s life.

“So what, five, ten minutes?” Tony asked.

Clint and Natasha passed a look between them.

“More like 30 seconds.  A minute tops,” Bruce said.

“60 seconds,” Clint decided.  “60 seconds from the time you leave the Tower.  JARVIS will tell us when you’ve set foot outside the door.”

Bruce nodded.  “That’s…fair.  How do we know who’s won?”

“Well, you have to get back to home base, right?” Clint said.  “So, after evading capture for one hour, you have to get back to the Tower.”

“JARVIS can be referee,” Bruce said.  “We can ask him to timestamp the video footage. But what defines ‘capture’?”

Tony’s throat went dry and Clint answered before he managed to free his voice.

“Oh, you’ll know when you’re caught.  I promise you.”

Natasha nodded her approval.  “To summarize, the rules are that we are all limited to what we have here at the Tower.  Bruce has a sixty second head start from when he leaves the Tower.  He must evade us for one hour before he can return back here.  If he does, he wins.  If we catch him, we win.”

“Sounds good to me,” Clint said.

“Ok,” said Bruce, looking at them over the rim of his glasses.  “When do we start?”

Three pairs of eyes snapped to Bruce.  “Now!”

Bruce rolled out of the hammock onto one of the lower ropes, then lowered himself and dropped—what was that? Eight, ten feet?—to the floor.  He tucked in midair and rolled over his shoulder back onto his feet, running out the door in a flash.

A slow, strangely proud smile spread over Clint’s face.  Tony’s eyebrow shot up with interest.

“Did you teach him that?” Tony said as he pointed in Clint’s face.

“Maybe.”

“Fuck this George of the Jungle nonsense.  I’m getting the suit.”

Just under two minutes later, JARVIS announced that Bruce had left the building.

 

 

****

“So who’s calling the shots?” Clint’s voice crackled over the comm.

“I’m second in command.  I’ve got this shit,” Tony replied.

“Who says you’re second in command?” Clint said.

“Cut the chatter, guys,” Natasha’s voice cut in.  “Iron Man, we need a visual, but don’t get in close—that’s what Hawkeye is for.  I’m taking the ground.”

Unlike Clint and Tony, Natasha had stuck to her street clothes so she could blend in with the Midtown pedestrian crowd.    Clint was perched on a building near Port Authority, on the lookout in case Bruce tried to skip town completely on the bus.  Tony and JARVIS were scanning the streets for Bruce’s bio signature.

“What if he takes the subway?” Clint asked after several minutes of futile watching.

“He won’t,” Tony said.  “He won’t put himself in a position where he might freak out with trapped bystanders.”  He was sure of it.  Game or not, the fear of unleashing the Hulk and hurting people was always present.

Really, Tony thought, he would want a place that he knew well, all the ins and outs and secret ways between.  Bruce knew he couldn’t out run Natasha or out climb Clint.  No, he needed familiar ground.

“Hey,” Tony said, “does anyone know where Bruce and Steve go running in the mornings?”

*****

Tony found him sitting on a bench in Central Park.  A red baseball hat hid his face, and a loose denim jacket disguised his frame, but there was no mistaking those grey-brown curls sticking out from under the brim.  Bruce had a clear view of the sky from his vantage point, which made it difficult for Tony to come in close.  Though he hadn’t looked to the sky or acknowledged it at all, really, Tony was sure that Bruce saw his fly by. 

“I got him, guys.  He’s in the Park, west side near 72nd.  He’s wearing an awful red cap and a denim jacket.”

“On my way,” Natasha answered first.  “Get Hawkeye and drop him away from the park.  You and I will flush him out towards Hawkeye.”

Tony positioned Clint on an apartment building a few blocks west of the park and flew in a wide circle, low to the ground so that Bruce couldn’t see him above the tree line.   He met up with Natasha just as she was entering the park from the south.

“What’s his position?” she asked.

“On that damn bench.  I think he’s listening to the cellist.”

They split up to come towards him from two sides, pointing his escape towards the building where Clint lay in wait.  Natasha just wandered through the crowd, looking like any other park patron.  But Tony knew he couldn’t play the casual card in the Iron Man suit, so he went for his usual—loud and obnoxious.

“Random citizen,” he addressed Bruce in Iron Man’s electronic voice, “you are in violation of city code 42: failure to acknowledge Iron Man’s all around awesomeness on an hourly basis.”

Bruce didn’t looked shocked—or move at all—as Tony landed a few feet from him.  But, before Tony could take a step towards him, he was stopped by a hair-raising scream.

“Oh MY GOD, it’s TONY STARK!” a lady exclaimed before running up to him with her camera.  Before he could say anything, every head in the—very crowded—vicinity snapped to him, and people started pushing and shoving to get closer.  It seemed like the spring afternoon had invited the entire city to that edge of the park.

“No, I’m sorry,” Tony said to the hands thrusting cameras and phones and papers in his face, “I’m on a mission!”

He searched over the top of the crowd for a red cap—he counted at least three—or grey-brown curls, but he couldn’t find Bruce.  A flash of red hair caught his eye, but Natasha just shrugged and shook her head before disappearing and leaving him to deal with the adoring crowd.

“Be on alert, Hawkeye,” Natasha said.  “We’ve lost him…wait, no, I’ve got a visual, headed towards the Upper West Side.”

Tony finally extricated himself from the crowd and took to the skies.  “Ok, I’m back.  Where or where has our Brucie boy gone?”

“I’ve got him,” Clint’s sure voice came over the comm.  “He’s coming straight towards me.”

Tony scanned the rooftops for people, but other than some nude sunbathers, didn’t pick up anyone in the area.  “JARVIS, where’s Hawkeye?”

A purple blip appeared on the HUD, and Tony blasted towards it just as Hawkeye’s voice came back over the comm.

“You’re done, Banner.”  The comm was left open, and there was a sudden, muffled curse and the sound of static…or gravel…or something before, “My _gun_! That fucker took my gun!”

And then Natasha’s laughter, absolute hysteric, breath-stealing laughter, covered the rest of his cursing.  “You just showed him how to do that last week.  Why are you surprised?”

“He took my _gun!”_

Tony found the two spies scrambling down a fire escape above a Chinese food restaurant.  He landed on the street below, firmly in their path, and pulled off his helmet.

“You pulled a gun on Bruce?” Tony said, stabbing the air in Clint’s general direction with his helmet.  “Why would you do that?  This is a fucking game!”

Clint threw his hands in the air—which was not very reassuring since he had an arrow in one hand and his bow in the other.  “It’s not like it’s my primary weapon!”

“You could have hurt him!  You can’t tell me it wasn’t loaded.”

“Uh, actually, I can’t hurt him.  That’s the whole point!”

“Yeah, tell that to him sometime when he’s watching the news on all the people he doesn’t remember killing!”

Clint lowered his bow and arrow while straightening himself up to his full height.  The smile melted from his face.  “I don’t think you know him nearly as well as you think you do.  You’re not any different from the rest of us—no more special.  Face it, you’re just as scared of him as we are.  A gun in his face isn’t going to make him panic.  But unlike some of us, he knows the difference between a game and reality.”

“Boys,” Natasha’s bored voice interrupted, “are we still playing or not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the feedback and reviews. It always makes my day and helps me look at these characters in ways I wouldn't have otherwise. You are much appreciated.


	19. The Prize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't these guys know that Bruce was on the run for YEARS before he met them?

The rusted metal of the fire escape chafed and burned Bruce’s hands as he slid down the ladder.  Halfway down, he swung legs over to land on a brick wall and drop down to the other side.  He was in a small side alley between two apartment buildings, but the neighborhood was unfamiliar, so he dropped to a crouch behind a stack of flattened cardboard to survey the area.  Widow and Hawkeye were sure to be on his heels, and he was constantly alert for the roar of Iron Man’s repulsors overhead and the magnetic tingle he could feel when Tony was near.  But he seemed to be alone.

That was strange.  Unless they chose to let him go.  The thought that they were letting him win rankled, but perhaps they were giving him a false sense of security.  Hopefully.

“JARVIS,” he whispered loud enough for the microphone in his glasses to pick up, “I could use a map of…wherever we are…if you could, please.”

“With this hardware, my capabilities are limited beyond range of my servers in Stark Tower, but Mr. Stark insured that I have full satellite navigation.” JARVIS’s voice sounded tinny over the earpiece.

“Tony knows how to prioritize,” Bruce said. 

A blue map appeared on his glasses display, and Bruce quickly planned a route.  But he had to figure out a way to keep Iron Man from finding him if he had any chance of getting back undetected.  Between the two buildings, there was enough electrical interference from the wires overhead, the various appliances in the apartments, and metal in the structure to at least make JARVIS’s scans sluggish.  But he had to move soon, and when he did, he’d be out in the open.

Bruce pulled the sleek, black multi-tool from his back pocket.  Hawkeye had been so preoccupied with his gun that he didn’t even notice that Bruce had knocked it loose from his boot.  Accidentally, Bruce had to admit, but at least he had the presence of mind to grab it.

He needed something to create electrical interference to mask himself from bioelectrical scans…of course, that wouldn’t help if Tony figured out that he was looking for a blob of walking white noise, but it would buy him some time.  He unbuckled his watch and laid it out on his knee and pulled out the screwdriver attachment.

“Sorry, JARVIS,” he whispered before snapping the faceplate off the watch to expose the circuits.

“This is hurting you more than it hurts me,” JARVIS assured through the earpiece.  “The Stark Glasses are still fully functional; the watch is a mere peripheral.”

“Well, still, I don’t like it when people go messing around with my…peripherals,” Bruce replied. 

“Mr. Stark—“

“Stop!  I don’t want to know,” Bruce cut him off.  “I need to concentrate.”

The watch was Bluetooth enabled—well, Tony’s own special version.  What would that be?  Starktooth?—which meant that Bruce could reconfigure it to interface with the Iron Man suit.  He shorted out a few wires so that it was transmitting nothing but static and enough electromagnetic activity to mask his own bioelectrical signature. 

“How’s that look to you?” Bruce asked JARVIS.

“Regrettably, the glasses do not have the bio sensors to test your device.”

“Ok, we’ll just have to field test it.  Can I get a time display with a countdown to the limit?”

24:22 blipped on the display in red.  Time to start heading back.

****

Twice, he saw Tony fly overhead, but he managed to slip into a crowd or nonchalantly pass behind a bus before he could get a visual.  It seemed like his watch was working, too, because Tony didn’t seem to notice him at all. By the sounds of repulsors passing by, he was flying in a pattern, combing the area, so after the second pass it was rather easy to adjust his route around the flybys.

Natasha and Clint were a different matter.  Natasha could fake anonymity like no other, so he was not safe in a crowd; and he had to have eyes on top of his head to keep a look out for Clint.  But he didn’t see either assassin, so he kept walking.  That was the secret.  Keep moving. Don’t run and attract attention, but keep moving.

He was rounding a corner in Hell’s Kitchen when a pair of huge arms wrapped around him from behind. A hand clamped over his mouth before he was hugged into a solid, towering body and pulled into an alley.  Every internal alarm he possessed lit up in panic because there was no way that was Clint behind him.  Clint was big, but this guy was a _mountain._

Sheer instinct and adrenaline made him throw his hips back and his shoulders forward, reaching one leg back to ground himself as he shifted his weight and his attacker tumbled over his shoulder to land with a heavy thud on the grimy alley floor.

“What’s after you?” Steve coughed from the ground.

Bruce blinked back green, staring at Steve as he stood and dusted himself off.

“Bruce!” Steve’s hand was on his shoulder and he was looking at him in concern.  “What are you running from?  What’s wrong?  I saw you from the other side of the road, and you looked like you had someone hot on your tail, but I don’t see anyone behind you.”

Bruce laughed and the tension drained from his body, leaving him feeling very light and a bit faint.  He put his hand on Steve’s arm to reassure him.  “Clint and Natasha!  Oh, and Tony, but it’ll be a minute before he flies by again.”

“Oh,” Steve said, squinting up into the sliver of sky visible from the alley.  “I did see him a few minutes ago.  I thought he was just off…being Tony…getting doughnuts or something.”

“Well, I won’t fool him forever…actually, I had an idea, but I couldn’t stop to execute it.” Bruce slid to the floor of the alley and pulled out the multi-tool and the watch.  “Just tell me if you see Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable.”

“Who?”

“Clint and Natasha.”

“Oh…ok.”  Steve leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, eyes flicking back and forth from one end of the alley to the other.

Clint’s gun poked him in the back as he slid further down to get to work, so he pulled it out of his waistband.  “Hey, Steve, hold onto this, please,” he said as he held it out.

Steve did an honest to goodness double-take before quickly taking the gun from Bruce’s hand.  “What the hell, Bruce!  Where did you get this?”

Bruce looked up from where he was cracking open the watch.  “Well I would’ve thrown it away, but it’s Hawkeyes, so I thought I better not.  It probably has a name.”

Steve shook his head.  He pulled out the clip and examined the chamber before sliding the clip back in and tucking it under his shirt at the small of his back.

Bruce was almost done with the watch.  He trimmed the burnt end of the wires so he could reconnect them.  The little heart icon popped onto his glasses display, but it flickered with static.  Ok, so it didn’t work perfectly, but it might be enough. 

“JARVIS,” Bruce said.  Steve stared hard at Bruce, partly amused and partly wary.  “Can you record my bio signature onto the watch and transmit it as a loop?”

“Of course, Doctor Banner.”

Bruce pressed the watch sensor to his wrist and waited a few seconds until JARVIS said he was done.  He stood and dusted himself off.  Now, he needed something moving north so that Tony’s path was intercepted and he was pulled in the opposite direction before he could find his real bio signature moving southeast towards the Tower.

Steve followed as he exited the alley back onto the street.  It didn’t take long for someone with Bruce’s build—average height, average weight under nondescript clothes—to pass by.  Bruce stepped deliberately into his path, looking the other way as if distracted, and both men tripped.

“Oh, so sorry!  I wasn’t watching where I was going!” Bruce said as he slapped the guy on the back with one hand and helped him up with the other.

“Oh, neither was I!  Sorry!” the man said.  He was so flustered that he didn’t even seem to know that Bruce had stuck the watch in his coat pocket.

Steve watched, eyes twinkling, as Bruce skinned off his denim jacket and red cap and threw them down the alley.

“You are a dangerous man,” Steve said as they strolled down the street.

“That’s what they keep telling me,” Bruce said.  “So what are you doing here anyway?”

“I read about an organic market on that website…Yawp?”

“Yelp.”

“That one.”

“Sounds great.  Lead the way, Cap.”

*****

So, Bruce mused, his grand adventure against a super spy and a beautiful Russian assassin—oh, and Tony Stark—ended with helping Captain America carry home the groceries.

Getting back to the Tower was easy—it was so far past the time limit, that they had probably pulled back to watch the perimeter.  But Bruce had to think of a way to get back _inside_ the Tower.

“There’s the subway,” Steve suggested.  “Take the subway into Grand Central, and then take the escalator up to the Tower.”

“Yeah, that’s the only way I can think of, too.  But there are some problems. First, the subway…because it’s the subway.  And I don’t have any identification that’s going to let me up that escalator and I don’t know that doorman.”

Steve shrugged.  “I have mine, so I’ll go with you.  And really, the subway is not that bad.  You’ve been chased, threatened with a loaded gun, and pulled into a dark alley—all in the last hour.  I think you can take a ride in an air-conditioned train.”

So Bruce let Steve lead him to the nearest subway stop that would take them to Grand Central and swipe them both through with his Metro Card. It was hot, but not as crowded as it could have been, and the train came quickly.  Steve ushered him into a corner seat and grabbed the overhead rail so that Bruce was more or less shielded from the other riders.  They piled the paper grocery bags on an empty seat and Bruce let himself be swayed and jostled with the car as they rode silently.

Really, it was the most peaceful part of the day so far.

“I don’t know why I was so worried,” Bruce admitted as they disembarked.

“I’m more worried about getting this cheese in the refrigerator,” Steve said with a smile.

It was a short walk through the terminal to the Stark Tower exit, and Steve flashed his ID and a smile to get them past security.  A few elevator rides through the labyrinthine building and they were in the giant galley kitchen without ever catching a glance of the other Avengers.

“Stay away from the windows,” Steve warned as they exited the elevator.  “Tony’s flying circles outside.”

“They already lost as soon as I got in the elevator,” Bruce said.  He couldn’t keep the wide grin off his face.

“Let’s see how long it takes them to give up,” Steve said.  “I’ll start the grill on the balcony.  You stay inside out of sight.”

****

By the time Clint and Natasha stumbled through the elevator, lunch was almost ready.  Bruce stood at the kitchen island, slicing strawberries and dropping them into a balsamic vinegar marinade for dessert later.  The quinoa-stuffed bell peppers were almost done roasting in the oven, and Steve had disappeared outside with the flank steak and corn for the grill.

“You _cheater_!” Clint said as soon as he caught sight of Bruce.

“How did I cheat?”  Bruce asked, looking at Clint over the edge of his glasses.

Clint came right up into his personal space and glared back over the rim of his sunglasses.  Bruce pressed his lips together to suppress a smile and tried to keep a stern look on his face, but this close, he was barely level with Clint’s shoulder and he felt a little ridiculous in a staring contest.  Clint broke into a smile first.

“Where’s my gun?”

Bruce gestured to the table with the paring knife and went back to slicing.  A quick hand darted in to steal a strawberry out of the pint basket, but he let it slide. 

“Oh,” Bruce said, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel, “you dropped this.” He took the multi-tool out of his pocket and tossed it to Clint without looking.

“What the hell?” Clint patted down his boot where the tool should have been.  “How did you get this?”

Natasha’s eyes went wide as her head snapped back and forth between Clint and Bruce.

“Luck.  Pure luck.  Came in handy, though.”

The door to the balcony slid open, and Steve and Tony walked in, each carrying a platter of food in one hand.  Tony looked furious and he threw the remains of the watch at Bruce’s head.  “I bet it came in handy.  That watch was a work of _art_!”

Bruce smirked as he washed his hands and put the bowl of strawberries in the fridge.  “You’ll just have to make me another one.”  He stooped to gather the watch pieces off the floor and put them on the counter.

“How did you get in the building?” Natasha asked.  “We had all the entrances covered.”

“The subway,” Bruce said.

“Fucking Stark!” Clint said.  But then Steve put his plate down on the counter and Clint’s entire demeanor changed.  “Is that grilled corn wrapped in _bacon_? I forgive everything.  Gimme the corn.”

Plates came out of the cupboard and the next few minutes were a pleasant scuffle for the food.  As they settled around the living room, balancing plates in their laps, Bruce told them about running into Steve and the subway adventure.  They laughed and looked impressed at the right moments.  He wasn’t going to mention how he had freaked out and thrown Steve down in the alley, but Steve apparently thought it was important and added that detail in himself.

“See, we told you,” Natasha said as she elbowed Bruce in the ribs.

He rubbed at the sore spot. 

Dinner was winding down when JARVIS’s voice chimed in: “It is customary to award a prize at the end of a competition.”

Tony’s mouth turned down in a thoughtful frown, but before he could answer, Clint took his multi-tool out of his boot and spun it around in his hands, offering it hilt-first to Bruce.

“See this?  This is the pinnacle of multi-tools.  The Excalibur—no, the Mjolnir—of multi-tools.  On one of my first missions, I had to defuse a bomb and I had very little idea of what I was doing.  Someone handed me this, and it got the job done.  I’ve had it on me ever since.  I’ve never lost it.  I didn’t drop it today.  It jumped out of my fucking boot and chose a new owner.  I’m sure of it, so it’s yours now.”

Slowly, very aware that the room was silent and everyone was watching, Bruce reached out and took the handle.  Clint didn’t let go until he made eye contact, and Bruce wasn’t sure what to read in his eyes.  Pride, maybe?  Friendship? Respect?

“Thanks, Clint.  I’ll take good care of it.” The sleek, black metal was cool and comfortable in his hand.

Clint nodded once and let go.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for the reviews. They always make my day, and I can't thank you enough for the time you spend writing them.


	20. The Destruction of Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The worst part of the whole Bruce thing is that he never had a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony drops a lot of F-bombs here. He's just in that kind of mood.

After lunch, Tony took the broken pieces of the watch, commandeered Bruce’s glasses, and headed to the shop.  He waved off Bruce’s attempts to follow, mumbling about not giving away any more trade secrets.  The slightly wary look on Bruce’s face chased him to the elevator.

He could tell that Bruce sensed something was wrong.  Clint, Bruce and Steve had chattered away in between bites of lunch, and Tony mostly stayed out of the conversation.  But none of the guys seemed to notice how quiet Tony had been or how little he ate.  Which was exactly how he wanted it.

His chest hurt.  More than anything, he wanted to curl up on the couch and hug his pillow to his aching torso, but he knew from past experience that it was even worse if he focused on it.  And if he stayed still too long, his mind would drift back to what Clint had said on that damn fire escape—just like it kept doing all through lunch. So he got to work.

The watch really was fucked.  He was surprised that Bruce had gone that far but, he supposed, nothing about Bruce should really shock him anymore.  In reality, the guy was one dropped ice cream cone away from becoming a super villain.

Tony pulled a tray of jeweler’s tools out of a drawer of the big Craftsman and turned on the lights near the magnifying lenses.  The wires had been shorted out and they took large parts of the circuitry with them when they died.  Fucking awesome.  What time is it, Mr. Watch?  Time to start the fuck over.

He wasn’t scared of Bruce.  Or the Hulk.  Really, what did Hawk Guy know?  He’s Tony Fucking Stark and Tony Fucking Stark isn’t afraid of anything.  Not terrorists in a dark cave thousands of miles away from home; not Senate hearings; sure as hell not aliens or gods or monsters; and not nukes and fucking wormholes.

Fuck his chest hurt.   He couldn’t take a full breath, so he panted shallowly.

And the worst part of the whole Bruce thing is that he never had a chance.  Nope.  Bruce _knew_ _exactly how the suit worked._ No one knew that but Tony, and he was beginning to rediscover why.  Even Rhodey had to bring War Machine to him for repairs because he couldn’t even change the fucking oil.

He couldn’t breathe.  The jeweler’s pliers fell from numb fingers as he reached for the arc reactor.  It was there, warm and cold at the same time under his hand.  But he still couldn’t breathe, and his heart was pounding against the back of the casing, and oh god, it hurt, it did, and fuck it he was so damn scared…

…of Bruce.  Of Bruce leaving because if he did, Tony knew that he would never be able to find him.  Ever.

Fuck Hawkeye.  Fuck him fuck him fuck him, his mind chanted in time to his quick, stunted breathing.

The floor looked comfortable.  Looked cool and solid and something to ground him, so he slid from the work stool down, down, down until the linoleum was cold under his hands and his sweaty cheek where he put his head down.  It wasn’t much better.

“JARVIS,” he managed to croak, “JARVIS, what’s happening?”

“Your heart rate is elevated and your oxygen saturation is steadily falling.  I am paging Doctor Banner, but you need to slow down and breathe.”

“No, JARVIS, no.  Don’t call Bruce, that’s a direct order…I’m not…I’m gonna be ok.”

JARVIS’s voice sounded as unsure as a robot could.  “I will follow your orders, Sir.  But please do try to breathe.”

That was so much easier said than done, but Tony fought through the pain and forced his ribs to expand as he took deep breaths.  Just like Bruce, thought Tony.  Just like he watched Bruce do a dozen times a day.

Fucking Bruce.  Fucking fucker Bruce.  Fucking gourmet yogi genius smartass beautiful Bruce.  Who beat him in a fair contest of intelligence, skill, and cunning.  Because he let him inside in his head, and Bruce took a glanced around, said “I got this shit,” and left without Tony even knowing how deep he had delved.  

Bruce had him all figured out, and for all he pretended, he didn’t know much about Bruce at all.  He didn’t even know what he meant to him.  Did he whore himself out to get to Tony’s arc technology?  Was this a science experiment? _Was_ this a game?  Because if it was, no one told Tony that they were playing for keeps, but apparently they were.

Because he already couldn’t imagine his life without Bruce.  Fuck.

****

“Here’s your damn watch,” Tony said as he threw it across the bar to Bruce.

Bruce’s face lit up when he caught it, turning it over and over in his hands as if he was caressing a long-lost pet.  “This isn’t the same one,” he said after a moment.

“No, it’s not because you utterly destroyed the last one,” Tony huffed.  His chest still hurt, so he pulled a bottle of Crown Royale off the shelf and poured a glass.

The smile on Bruce’s face immediately faded.  Maybe it was the comment—spoken more harshly than Tony intended—but maybe it was the alcohol.  So Tony sighed and poured it down the sink.  His hand shook and flew to the arc reactor as another spasm rocked through his chest.

And then, of course, Bruce was by his side, easing him down onto a bar stool.

“Hey, hey, now, what’s wrong?”  Bruce’s voice was soft and concerned in the most perfect balance between doctorly professionalism and truly worried friend.

It was hard to breathe again, being this close to Bruce.  He felt like he was in that stupid wormhole all over again, flying up and up where there isn’t any oxygen and leaving everyone so far behind him. 

“Three minutes,” Bruce said.

What?  “What?”

“It takes the body three minutes to process adrenaline.  If you start to calm down right now, it will all be over in less than three minutes.  You can do that.”

And Bruce put one hand on his diaphragm, right below where Tony clutched at the reactor, and one on his back, between his shoulder blades.

“Breathe from here,” Bruce said, pressing a little harder on his belly.  Gently, he pried Tony’s hand loose from the reactor and placed it lower before covering it with his own.  “Tell your body what to do so that your physiological response doesn’t take over.  I know it’s scary, but I’m right here and I’m not going to leave until you’re ok.”

So he did, mostly because he was out of air and mental space to formulate a smartass remark.  And because Bruce’s hands on him helped a lot more than a little extra oxygen.

His heart slowed—eventually though he was sure it was far more than three measly minutes—and his breath was steadier, even if it was a bit loud and wheezy.  But Bruce seemed more relieved than annoyed at the strange noises he was making.

“Not so bad,” Bruce said, rubbing his hand on Tony’s back in firm, even strokes.  “You took control of that fairly easily.  But I guess you always do.”  A small smile crept onto Bruce’s face at the last words.

“Yeah,” Tony gasped.  “Always do.”

“Want to move a bit?  Burn off the last of that adrenaline?”

“Yeah.”  Tony nodded, and Bruce pulled him to his feet.

They didn’t make it far.  The couch looked very inviting, like he could slide between the cushions like loose change and not be seen again for years.  That would be nice.

Bruce lowered him down, sliding pillows under his knees so he felt cradled, secure.  Fucking thoughtful rage monster.

“Will you be ok for a few minutes?  I want to go down to the shop, but I’ll be right back.”

“Yeah.  M’fine.”

“Ok.”

And Bruce was gone.  Again.

While he was gone, Tony went through a dozen mental simulations of how to tell Bruce, what to ask him, predicting his responses and where the conversation could and would possibly go.  In those few minutes, he isolated most of the variables and drew hypothetical flowcharts to help him design some kind, any kind, of experiment.  But not all the variables.

Oh, like Bruce himself.

So, it caught him a little off-guard when Bruce rushed from the elevator, clutching the little square pillow from the couch in the shop and a pill bottle.  The pillow was shoved into his arms without a word, and, yessss, that was better.  If he turned on his side, it was just the right size to wedge under his left shoulder, taking the strain from that side of his body.  And then he could press his back into the couch and the pillow against his chest so that he felt protected on two sides, even though his rational mind knew that a designer couch and a stuffed square of cloth was no match against anything larger than an Airsoft pistol.

But then Bruce was shaking the prescription bottle in his face.

“When you were so quiet at lunch, I kind of guessed you were hurting,” Bruce’s soft voice washed over him.  “I’m sorry I didn’t go down to the lab to check on you.  JARVIS told me that you had an anxiety attack already once today.”

He went quiet.  Tony guessed it was his turn to talk.  “Traitor,” he said.

“No, a worried friend reaching out to another worried friend,” Bruce said.  He reached his hand around his back and took a stethoscope from his back pocket.  “I’m pretty sure you’re ok, but can I check to make sure?”

Tony sat up and loosened his shirt from where it was sticking to his chest and back with drying sweat.  Bruce took it as permission and warmed the stethoscope in his hands before sliding it all over his back and around the arc reactor.  The mild, calm look on Bruce’s face was reassuring.

“I think you’re ok,” Bruce said at last.  “It sounds like you kicked that infection, so I think it’s psychosomatic.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not discrediting how you feel.  If it was purely physical, it could be treated more easily.  But we just have to do damage control while we try to figure out the real problem.  But that’s going to take some time.”  He shook two pills out of the bottle.  “Take these for now.”  He handed them over.

Tony peered at the little pills.  They were the ones meant for days when the pain from the arc reactor made life unbearable.

“They’ll put me to sleep,” Tony said.

“Yeah, that happens.  Especially if you’re already on the brink of exhaustion.  And you’re always on the brink of exhaustion.  I’ll stay with you so you don’t try to fly off the balcony in your sleep.”

The pills went down with a glass of water.  Bruce settled on the floor near Tony’s head, slightly off to the right because that’s where he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are always cherished! This is a shorter chapter because I wanted to get it out soon and get into some actual plot...eventually...maybe after a few more bedroom scenes ; )
> 
> I just really hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing it, so hopefully you don't mind if it takes Bruce and Tony a while to get where they're going. They're damaged people, so they need a little extra time sometimes.


	21. Breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce learns what happens when he breaks the rules. But Tony promised that he would never hurt him, right?

 

“Tony…is this really necessary?”

“Judging by what you wore here today, yes, absolutely necessary.”

Bruce huffed and tried to fold his arms, but a careful tap reminded him that he was being measured.  Tony watched him from an armchair in the corner, sipping his cappuccino as the tailor came just short of molesting him.  So much concentration was necessary for Bruce to keep his composure that he couldn’t come up with a good enough comeback. 

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”  He looked down at his outfit: dark jeans, a Stark Industries logo shirt, and a blazer.  Ok, so it was true that his jeans were almost worn through in the knee, and the back of the cuffs were shredding from being walked on.  And his wrinkled blazer wasn’t really made for this weather.  But still, he had put in some effort this time.

Tony raised an eyebrow and turned his attention to his phone.

“You’re going to look a lot more out of place next to me if you wear your old clothes.  Camouflage is all about studying your environment and blending in, isn’t it?”

The tailor had been silently working the entire time, relaying Bruce’s measurements to his assistant who noted it on her tablet, but Bruce could tell he was enjoying their conversation; he had probably been shocked when Tony Stark brought a scruffy scientist into his upscale shop and asked to add a few pieces to his order.  But the tailor had taken it in stride, and Bruce ended up with a hand up his inseam.

“Is this a test?” Bruce asked.

“Yes!  And you win a whole new wardrobe!  Now stay still because we have a lot more to do today.”

An exaggerated sigh left his lips, but he sucked up his discomfort and let the man do his job.

They left the tailors without actually trying on a single suit.  “Just trust the man, Brucie.  He knows what he’s doing,” Tony insisted.  Bruce had a feeling that it had to do with his growing discomfort, and Tony had probably wanted to avoid an…incident…so the visit had been cut short. 

The car waiting out front took them uptown—the fact that Tony was willing to be driven around told Bruce that he was either still shaken up from his brush with anxiety or else taking the stronger pills.  But it was nice to have Tony in the back seat with him, knee up in the space between them as he leaned against the door.  His shin pressed along Bruce’s thigh, and the subtle contact felt comfortable—no, better than that.  It felt welcome.  Within a few blocks, his equilibrium returned.

The car rolled to stop at the side entrance of a salon.  Bruce ran a hand through his hair in dismay.  He felt a little self-conscious after Tony’s remark in front of the tailor, and he didn’t want to think about the state of his hair.  He usually just buzzed it short when it started to bother him.  The last time anyone had given him a haircut it had been—well, it had been Betty.  With that thought, he really didn’t want to get out of the car.  His hand, halfway to the door handle, froze in midair.

“Bruce,” Tony said, voice pitched low.  “Bruce, get out.”

“I—don’t…I—no I can cut my own hair at home,” Bruce said.

“Oh ok, if you want to, but I’ve got to get a trim,” Tony said, scratching his beard for emphasis.  “I feel like Han Solo after a long night inside a taun taun.”

“That’s…pretty gross.”

“Well, get out.”

Bruce still hesitated.  He wanted to just stay in the car, out of the way and safe.  He could tell Tony, but then Tony would take him home and miss his appointment just because Bruce couldn’t read a damn magazine in the corner or something for a little while.  He wished he could ask Tony for reassurance—and he was positive he would get it—but the words stuck in his throat.

Tony stared at him for a minute, and Bruce could see the cogs and wheels turning in his head, trying to figure him out.  “Have you already had enough for one day?”

“Uh…maybe.”

“Really?   I don’t think so.”  Then, Tony rubbed his chin again and squinted his eyes a little at Bruce.  “Get out of the car,” he said, and his voice came from somewhere deeper inside his chest, daring him to disobey.  It was the voice Tony used when he told Bruce to hold the belt in his mouth and the voice that made shivers run down his spine with praise.

This time, Bruce had no trouble popping the door open.

He stood on the sidewalk as Tony exited his own door and spoke a few words to the driver.  Tony waited for the car to drive off to park before he made a move towards him.  Bruce tensed, expecting—well, he didn’t really know anymore—but Tony just stood in front of him, took off his sunglasses, and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, it’s going to be empty except for us and the staff.  That’s fine if you don’t want a haircut, but you’re going to wait for me. Don’t talk to anyone—unless they compliment you, then just say ‘thank you.’  Just sit there and wait.”  Tony thrust his tablet into Bruce’s hands.   “Ok?”

Bruce nodded.

Tony’s smile was pure confidence.  “Good boy.”  He put his sunglasses back on and turned towards the entrance.  “Right here,” he said, pointing to the spot on his right as he walked away.

Bruce jumped to obey and follow Tony inside.

****

The salon was not nearly as thematic or pretentious as Bruce would have guessed.  Minimalist black and white furniture dotted the room, and a long, glossy white bar ran down the center.  Trance-like electronic music played in the background, but it was turned low and more ambient than overwhelming.  Tony had indeed had the entire place cleared of patrons, and the staff seemed to be accustomed to him because they barely batted an eye when they entered.  Tony pointed to a deep, cushioned lounger in the corner and Bruce made himself comfortable.

A young man greeted Tony at the door and swept him away towards the back, and Bruce was left alone.  He sat for a moment, self-conscious and uneasy, but then JARVIS’s voice sounded in his ear: “Doctor Banner, if you have a few moments, we can review the itinerary for the trip and finalize the last-minute details.”

JARVIS turned on the tablet and displayed a day-by-day calendar.  Nearly every minute was mapped out for two weeks straight, starting with a private flight to somewhere in New Mexico…oh…great.  There was a bright flash and a roar of recognition from the deepest part of his psyche.  He took a deep breath and let it out through his nose.  Day by day, he reminded himself, just take it one day at a time.

He was about half way through looking at the hotel choices in Palm Springs when a willowy young lady with long, blonde and purple hair offered him a drink.  He shook his head when she offered wine or champagne, but nodded when she mentioned water.  She disappeared with a smile, not put off at all by his lack of a verbal answer.  She set the water down on the table beside him—maybe she was used to Tony’s idiosyncrasies—and wandered away.  Good.

“Who pays $5,000 a night for a hotel room?” he typed to JARVIS.

“Mr. Stark would not pay that for a night in a hotel,” JARVIS reassured.  “He would rent a villa from outside city limits.”

Bruce nearly spit his drink across the room at the sight of the places JARVIS displayed on the screen.  Sure, a pool would be nice in the desert, but who needed a _private nightclub_?  Well, actually, Tony would.

He felt a pair of eyes watching him.  Looking over the edge of the tablet, he spotted the blonde-and-purple girl watching him from across the bar, leaning on one manicured hand as she openly studied him.  She smiled a little when they made eye contact.  Oh great. 

She must have taken that as an invitation because she ambled over to him and slid into the seat next to him. 

“You have really great hair,” she said.

“Uh…thank you,” Bruce replied, barely glancing sideways at her.

“My boyfriend has hair like yours.  Maybe not as grey.”

Was that a compliment?  He decided no, it wasn’t, so he just smiled a little and nodded.  He was sure it looked forced and awkward, but the girl wasn’t put off by it.

“I mean, you have a lot of different colors all together.  It’s great.  You could do a lot with it.”

He put down the tablet, and turned to her before shaking his head with a rueful smile.

“Mr. Stark would love it.”

The smile twisted a little on his face as he thought.  They obviously knew Tony here, and he trusted them—with his _goatee_!  That was true trust right there.  And, really, he was here to satisfy Tony’s whims more than his own. 

But wait…why would she care if Tony likes his haircut?  Oh—Tony Stark, billionaire playboy, taking a strange man to the salon might raise a red flag or two.  Strangely, that thought didn’t bother Bruce in the least.  Hopefully it didn’t bother Tony, either.

That girl was still staring at him.

The clippers would always be waiting for him at home if he couldn’t stand it.  And it would make Tony happy.

He nodded his head and let himself be led back to the sinks.

****

In his entire life, Bruce had never been to a full-service salon.  He didn’t know what it was like to have a professional massage his hair as she washed it, or have assistants press cool cucumber water spiked with lemon into his hand.  He was halfway asleep when the stylist told him to sit up and wrapped a towel around his shoulders.

She led him to a swiveling chair a few down from where Tony was already sitting.  He flashed Bruce a smile that was questioning and a little disbelieving. 

“So, is there anything you would absolutely hate?” the girl asked as she turned to open drawers and gather scissors and combs.

Bruce opened his mouth, but looked at Tony with wide eyes before making a sound.  Tony was watching him, and he stuck his hand out from the edge of the cape to make a talking gesture before flipping the cape back into place.

Bruce understood.  He was given permission to speak if he needed.

“I…uh…just need it out of my eyes more than anything.”

The girl turned around to look at him through the reflection in the mirror.  “Ok, we can work with that.”

True to her word, the stylist knew how to work with his hair type.  She took the curls off the back and the sides so that he already looked sleeker and less like an unruly sheepdog.  Then she just shaped the top a bit so that it all fit together.  All in all, she didn’t change much, but just made him into a more put-together version of himself.  And he had not even once been tempted to run screaming out of the building.  Life was pretty good.

She shook out the cape and dusted him off with a towel before sending him back to his chair to wait for Tony.  He opened up the tablet to get back to his reading and settled back in.  That wasn’t nearly as bad as the tailor, but he needed a little time to regain his balance.  So, he was surprised when the girl came back with a tray of manicure tools.  She pointed to his hands.

“You bite your nails.”

True.  The edges were jagged, but too short to really matter, and the cuticles were a little torn up.  He nodded.

She gave a triumphant smile, set the tray up next to him, and dragged a stool over to sit down. Then, she held out her hand for his.  He hesitated.

The girl huffed an exaggerated sigh, but her welcoming smile took the edge off.  “It’s ok.  I’m not going to make them pink, I swear.  Just let me clean them up a bit.  You can keep working.  Just ignore me.”

So Bruce did.  He couldn’t type to JARVIS with one hand, so he flipped through the choices and reminders that JARVIS offered him, and before long, the girl rolled her stool over to his other side.  This was easy, he decided.  Her touch stayed professionally neutral and nonthreatening.  But—more than that—he was no longer the hypersensitive bundle of nerves he was a few months ago.  He couldn’t lie to himself that it was comfortable, but the urge to jump out of own skin was manageable enough for him to slow his heart rate and stave off the anxiety attack he could feel lurking at the edge of his awareness.

“Are we finished here?” Tony said, very close to his ear.

Bruce jumped a little, more surprised because he hadn’t noticed Tony approach than by his voice.  But the girl was already packing up her supplies—when had she finished?

“Yes, Mr. Stark, we’re all done.  I tried to paint them red and gold, but he just wasn’t having it,” she said with a smirk in Bruce’s direction. 

“Thank you,” Bruce said softly and she beamed. 

“Any time, sweetie,” she said.

Tony looked from Bruce to the girl.  “You are a miracle worker,” Tony said.  He swept up her hand and kissed it.  “I’ve spent a year trying to get him in here, and it was worth every second.”

After leaving a generous tip for the girl whose name Bruce didn’t even catch, Tony shepherded him into the awaiting car.  Up close, Tony looked much as he always did, all sharp lines and quick eyes, but Bruce could see the small differences that all added up: the line of his goatee was more refined, a little less angular, and his hair was tamer and smoother in the back, less gray peeking in from around the edges.

Once in the car, Tony jammed himself into the door and crossed his leg away from Bruce.  He took Bruce’s hand and inspected his buffed nails and trimmed cuticles before dropping it with an amused snort.  Then he took out his phone and promptly ignored Bruce.

All of Tony’s body language screamed that something was wrong, but he was obviously in no mood to talk.  After a moment of oppressive silence, Bruce was under the distinct impression that Tony was upset with _him._   He turned to look out the window, trying to make himself as small as possible and press away from Tony.  The entire day replayed in his mind as he attempted to figure out exactly what he did wrong, and at what point Tony’s mood had changed.  He wasn’t ready for the car to come to a stop in the Tower’s garage.  Face turned resolutely out the window, he listened for Tony’s door to open so he would know when to get out without looking like he was leaping from the car.  It didn’t open.

“Tablet?” Tony’s warm voice asked.

Bruce turned around to see Tony’s hand held out in request.  He moved to set the tablet on the seat between them, but Tony reached out and caught it.  It hovered, trapped between them for a moment, gripped in both their hands.  At last, Bruce looked up to Tony’s face to see a warm smile and soft eyes regarding him.

“Go upstairs and meet me in my room,” Tony said as he took the tablet from Bruce’s grasp.  “Give me a few minutes and I’ll meet you there.”

Bruce nodded, opened the door, and headed to the elevator.  He was halfway up the Tower before he could convince himself that yes, Tony Stark really did just take something that Bruce handed to him.

****

The room felt too large and empty without Tony in it, like a museum or a showroom.  Bruce took a seat on the couch to wait for the billionaire to return.  The minutes ticked by slowly, so Bruce folded into a half-lotus on the soft, ivory carpet to attempt to meditate, but his scattered emotions would give him no peace.

Finally, the elevator opened and Tony stepped out, holding a black shopping bag.  He walked over to Bruce and sat on the couch to his left.  Bruce started to get up, but a light hand on his hair told him to stay where he was.

“Today was a bad day, huh?” Tony asked.  “You were all over the place.  One minute, you’re laughing and smiling, and the next it looked like you wanted to throw yourself off the nearest bridge.”

Yeah, Bruce had to admit, the mood swings had attacked full-force today.  Perhaps it was the aftermath of the adrenaline-fueled dash across Manhattan with two super spies and a technological genius on his tail; maybe it was the lingering concern over Tony’s anxiety; he couldn’t pinpoint why he felt so restless and uneasy.  It was just a shitty day.

Tony’s fingers explored the texture of Bruce’s hair, carding through the curls, pausing to tighten for a moment before loosening again.  It felt good.  Bruce unfolded his legs and leaned against Tony’s knee to silently encourage him.

Tony stopped.  “But even if you were having a bad day, you still broke a rule, so we have to deal with that,” he said.

The breath froze in Bruce’s lungs.  Then it came to him.

“I moved from the chair in the salon where you told me to sit,” Bruce murmured.

Tony’s hand resumed its journey through his hair.  “Good boy.  Yes, that was it.  So, you need to learn to stay where I put you.”

Bruce tipped to the side as Tony stood abruptly.  “Stay,” Tony said and he retreated to the bedroom.

Again, he was left waiting for several long minutes before he was called into the bedroom.  He paused in the doorway.  In the middle of the bedroom, Tony had positioned a black leather ottoman with four lengths of rope laid out beside it.  Tony sat on the bed, removing his cufflinks so he could roll up the sleeves of his immaculate white dress shirt.

“Strip.  All the way down,” Tony instructed.

Bruce couldn’t stop the shaking in his hands as he obeyed, but he couldn’t tell if it was fear or anticipation.  He folded his clothes neatly on the floor and stood naked before Tony.  Slowly, Tony moved to stand in front of him.

“I need these,” Tony said as he slid the glasses from Bruce’s face.  “You can keep the watch on this time.”

Then, the cold, calculating look on Tony’s face melted for just a moment as he cupped Bruce’s cheek.  “I’m not going to hurt you,” Tony reassured as he rubbed his thumb along the stubble on his jaw.  “Say it like you believe it.”

Bruce looked right into Tony’s eyes to show that he wasn’t afraid.  “You’re not going to hurt me,” he repeated.

Tony smiled for just a second before the diamond-hard look returned to his eyes.  “Good boy.”

And then Bruce was being pushed down so he was on his knees, chest and stomach pressed into the ottoman and head hanging down over the edge.  His arms automatically grasped the sides to help him balance. 

“Good,” Tony said from above him.  “Just like that.”

He couldn’t lift his head to see, but he felt the electric tingle of Tony’s hand tracing his spine from his neck all the way down to the cleft of his ass, stroking there for a moment before leaving him shivering against the leather.  Then, Tony returned to his line of sight as he knelt on Bruce’s left.  Tony took Bruce’s left hand and drew it down so his arm was against the short wooden leg of the ottoman.  With a length of rope, he bound him, wrist and forearm, to the leg.  It was tight; he would bruise if he struggled too much.  Yet, he could easily pick up the ottoman and slip the binding off the leg if he tried.  He felt his heartbeat pick up, but Tony didn’t look concerned in the least.  He repeated it with the other side so that Bruce was stretched tight across the wide seat, chest trapped against the leather.  He wiggled to test the boundaries of the ropes.

“Color?” Tony asked after Bruce stilled.

“Green,” Bruce said. 

Tony disappeared behind Bruce.  The hand traced down his back again, lingering on the sensitive triangle of skin right above his ass before his knees were kicked wide.  Rope wrapped around Bruce’s thigh just above his bent knee, tying his leg to the ottoman, first his left, then his right, until he was completely immobile.  The ottoman was wide enough that his buttocks were pulled apart, exposing him to the cool air and Tony’s sight.

Tony walked around to his front and crouched by his head.  “Color?”

“Uh…green?”

Tony nodded as he undid the top button of his shirt and loosened his tie.  It was an old one, pale gold with specks of embroidered silver.  He untied it, slowly and deliberately, and pulled it one smooth motion from around his neck. 

“Close your eyes,” Tony said.

Bruce obeyed.  Cool silk looped once, twice across his eyes before tightening in a knot behind his head. 

“Now, stay.”

As if he had a choice.  Then again, he did.  Bruce would never consider himself an escape artist—but he was sure he could slip these ropes with very little effort.  He could get out at any moment, even without using his safe word.  He didn’t even need the Other Guy.  The only reason he was there was because he _wanted_ to be there.  Because Tony wanted him to be there.

Without his sight, the large bedroom felt cavernous.  Tony’s footsteps echoed on the wooden floor so that tracking his movements were difficult.  Bruce could sense how much open space was around him in the minimalist room, so he felt especially vulnerable on display in the middle like another one of the sculptures that dotted the Tower.

A warm hand on his back alerted him to Tony’s return behind him.  A finger, coated in something thick and creamy, circled his entrance.  He was still a little sore from the long, slow fuck Tony had given him two days before—his first time, so no wonder he was sore—so the sensation made him jump a little.  The ottoman squeaked as it jerked a few inches forward.

“No, stay,” Tony admonished, pressing against his lower back again. 

The hand remained there, holding him steady as something blunt and hard pressed inside him.  He couldn’t stop his gasp as it breached him because oh, it hurt, but the rush of endorphins when it forced it way past his protesting muscles made the safe word catch in his throat.  His moan was long and painful as Tony continued twisting it inside.  It was coated in lube, or else it wouldn’t have gone it so easily, but Bruce had not yet been taken so unprepared, and his body hadn’t completely recovered from being stretched open so recently.  He was left shaking in his bonds by the time his hole clamped down on the narrow end of the plug.

Tony was silent behind him, but the hand on his back stayed steady and firm and warm as Bruce took several deep breaths that threatened to turn into sobs.

“Color?”

Now that the plug was inside, it wasn’t so bad.  And, he couldn’t really move very much to make it shift inside of him.

“Green,” Bruce whispered.

“Good,” Tony said.

Then, he twisted the plug and it must have been curved because suddenly something insistent and hard and unforgiving was pressing right on his prostate.  He groaned at the near-pain of it, and the slick, twisting motion felt like his entire insides were being rearranged.  The ottoman jerked noisily again as he tried to move away from Tony’s hands.

“No, Snowflake.  Stay still,” Tony’s voice had an edge to it this time.  “Stay.  Still.”

He was hard now, his dick pressing against the side of the ottoman, leaving a trail of moisture smeared on the black leather.  Tony must have noticed because he cupped his hanging balls in one hand, rolling them softly.

“You were so good for me today,” Tony said.  Bruce felt soft rope being looped around his balls and let out a bit of a shout as it was tightened and knotted.  “All morning, you were so very patient, even though I know you were uncomfortable with being in public and having strangers touch you,” Tony continued as he slide the knot tighter and tighter.  He stopped when Bruce whimpered.  “I am so very proud of how far you’ve come.  I want you to be happy, and to be able to walk into any situation and just own it like I know you can.”  Tony moved back a little and pushed his spread ankles together.  He drew the end of the rope tight—any tighter and Bruce’s balls would be jerked back—and used it to bind his ankles together.  “So,” Tony said as he finished, “you don’t know how much I don’t want to do this right now.  But, you broke a rule, and I have to make sure that you know what will happen if you do it again.”

Bruce was panting heavily, and only the knowledge that Tony was wearing his glasses kept him from screaming his safe word.  Now, if he made any kind of move at all, the taut rope connected his ankles to his testicles sent jolts of pleasure-pain—but pain, definitely more pain—from his knees to his stomach. 

“Stay very still and it won’t hurt,” Tony coached, petting his back again.  “Color?”

“Yellow,” Bruce cried hoarsely.

“Good boy.”

And, then, the plug flared to life inside him, and it took every ounce of willpower for Bruce not to thrash in the ropes and rip his own balls off.  He didn’t even try to stop his inarticulate cries.

Tony’s hand, cool now on his fevered skin, rested on his back.  “You’re going to stay right here where I put you for as long as I feel like having you here.” And then the hand was gone.

Bruce heard footsteps retreating towards the door and Tony say, “JARVIS, lights, please,” before the light filtering in from the edges of the tie disappeared.  He heard the door open, then close again.

He was alone.

****

Time meant nothing.  Bruce was all sensation, electric sparks running up and down every nerve.  At some point, Bruce’s knees began to ache from the hard ground, but trying to push his chest up further onto the ottoman was impossible with his balls already aching hard from the rope.  The plug inside him was sweet torture, winding him up so tight that he was sure he could come without being touched, but the pain of the rope kept him from cresting that peak.  He let his head fall forward and breathed in the rich scent of leather as sweat dripped down his scalp to soak his curls.  He shook and moaned without even thinking of what he must look and sound like because he was alone, and there was no one to see or hear him anyway.

He was so alone.  That hurt so much that he was grateful for the physical torments to keep him grounded in the present.  It was strange that after years—decades, a lifetime even—of being isolated, feeling left out, haunted by loneliness, that such a little thing would set him off again.  But it was more than being left in the bedroom like a naughty child on timeout.  The sudden, cold distance between him and Tony in the car had been unbearable because he had forgotten what it was like to have someone care about him.  He would do anything for Tony, fight any battle, face any enemy.

And he had let Tony down.

The tie across his eyes was wet, though Bruce was sure he wasn’t crying.  Still, tears leaked through to fall on the floor in tiny plops. 

A while longer, and the door opened.  Bruce’s heart soared as he heard the echoing footsteps approach.  But, the lights didn’t come on, and the footsteps stopped short.

“Do you want to use your safe word?” Tony asked, not unkindly.

Bruce didn’t know if he could speak even if he wanted to, but he could still move his head.  He shook it resolutely.

Silently, Tony turned and left again, the door shutting ominously behind him.

Fresh tears tracked down Bruce’s face.

****

By the time the door opened again, Bruce was laying limply over the ottoman. The tears had stopped, but left a strange, empty resignation in their wake.  It was as if he had cried himself to sleep, but sleep refused to come, so his brain shut down what it could to let him rest.

He whimpered in relief when Tony’s hand came to rest on the small of his back.

“Good boy,” Tony murmured.  “My beautiful Snowflake.”

“Th-thank you, T-tony,” Bruce managed to stammer out.

“Lights, JARVIS.  Brucie, stay still just a minute longer,” Tony said as he put his other hand on the rope at Bruce’s ankles.  “Don’t move until I’m done.”

There was the cold, sharp bite of metal as Tony slid scissors between Bruce’s feet, slicing the rope open in one smooth cut.  Bruce choked on a sob of relief as the rope around his balls fell slack.  The tears started again, pooling on the floor beneath his bowed head.

“Shh, Snowflake.  My good boy,” Tony soothed as he turned off the plug and eased it from Bruce’s abused ass.  “That’s it, you’re ok.  Everything’s ok.”

The scissors made quick work of the ropes at Bruce’s knees and arms, and then Tony was turning him around, pulling him into his arms as he sat on the floor.  Bruce didn’t even wait until the blindfold was taken off before he latched onto Tony for dear life, sobbing in earnest now.  But instead of pushing him away, Tony just held him tighter and rubbed his back.

“Good boy, let it all out.  All that frustration, everything, just let it out.  You’re safe with me.”  Tony kept murmuring reassurances in his ear.

Tony untied the blindfold and Bruce blinked at him through the last of his tears.  He wanted to say something, but he had no idea what it was.  The look on his face must have given him away because Tony’s eyes softened.

“What do you want to say?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said at last.  “I’m sorry about the salon.  I…just…I thought you wanted me to look more…presentable on the trip, and I thought it would make you happy.”

Tony sucked in a sharp breath.  “Make _me_ happy?”  He ran a hand through Bruce’s hair looking at him as if seeing him again for the first time.  “Oh, my Snowflake.  Bruce, all I want is for _you_ to be happy.  When we go to Palm Springs, people are going to judge you by the way you look.  Now, I know we’re going to be around a lot of the geeky science types, which is more your aesthetic than mine, but you’re going to be by my side the entire time.  People are going to judge you because of that.  And I know you need to blend in, so you need to look more like…well…me.  I don’t care what you wear.  You’re not a Barbie doll for me to play dress-up.”

“I don’t have her figure.”

Tony chuckled at the lame joke.  “You don’t have Ken’s figure, either, thank God,” Tony said as he palmed Bruce’s half-hard dick.  “Let’s get you into a hot bath and let me take care of that for you.”

“You left me alone.” The sound of his own voice, so lost and small, surprised Bruce himself.

Tony, though, just grinned like a Cheshire cat.  “No, I didn’t,” he said.  He pointed to the wall with the door.  “I just opened the door and closed it again.  I was right there the whole time.  Oh, Brucie, did you really think that I’d leave you trussed up naked alone?  Have a little faith!  Oh wow, you believed me?  This deserves an Oscar.  Or at least…what’s that porn award?”

And then Bruce was laughing, at himself, at Tony, at his own fears and longings and everything else that he couldn’t describe.  He hugged Tony harder, and despite all the reasons why he shouldn’t, Tony hugged him tighter right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, over 10,000 hits! Thank you so much for making this story a success! You all mean the world to me.


	22. Mending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Tony fix what he broke?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for feedback on the last chapter. I thought about deleting it and rewriting it, but then I thought, eh, it's already out there. So here's Tony's "fix-it." Hopefully, the mechanic can pull through.

The tub in Tony’s bathroom, though rarely used, was as much of a piece of art as the rest of his suite.  Black granite steps led up the dais to the marble bathtub, which was big enough to hold all of the Avengers together—not that he planned on it, but hey, it was nice in case it ever came up.

Tony led Bruce inside and sat him on the edge of the tub as he ran the hot water.  Bruce hunched over a little, eyes downcast and quiet.  He was just laughing a minute ago, but then again, he was crying at the same time, so Tony figured he was a little emotionally worn out.  But, really, he just looked…sad.  Then again, that was a normal state for a certain Bruce Banner.  Still, guilt needled Tony’s conscience. 

“You ok?” Tony asked.  He could hear the defensiveness in his voice, but it was too late to fix it now.

Bruce looked up at him as though he wasn’t quite sure where he was.  He mustered a smile, but it was forced and fell quickly.  “Yeah.  I’m ok.”

The tub was half-full so Tony gestured for him to get in.  He did, lowering himself a little too gingerly into the hot water.  Yup.  That was definitely guilt pricking him in the gut.

“Did I hurt you?  Was I too rough?” Tony asked.

Bruce smiled, a little more genuine this time, and huffed and shook his head.  “No…I mean, nothing I couldn’t take.”

Tony nodded and they lapsed into silence.  He reached over to turn of the tap as the water filled to the edge.  Bruce sat back a bit, but he looked so small in the middle of the huge wading pool of a bathtub.  Tony sat on the edge and trailed his fingers in the water for a long moment, watching Bruce’s face.  He was definitely sad in that resigned, rueful, kicked-puppy way that was so apparent the very moment they first met on the Helicarrier.

“I hurt you,” Tony said.  It wasn’t a question this time.  “Tell me Bruce.”

Bruce’s lips pressed into a firm, straight line, and his jaw tightened until the muscles were clearly defined from his temple down the side of his neck.  He was trying not to cry.

“Tell me,” he said, softer this time.  “Tell me so I don’t do it again.”

Bruce pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.  He rested his forehead on his folded knees, eyes resolutely on the water.

“I felt so alone…I forgot what it felt like, and that’s…that’s dangerous.  And then, to learn that you were _right there_ the entire time?  Watching me fall apart…” he trailed off.

Oh fuck.  He had played upon Bruce’s fear, his insecurity, and used it against him.  He was a cruel, fucked-up fuck-up.  Fuck.

Part of his brain, deep, deep down asked him if this was revenge for Bruce doing the same thing to him.  For using his secrets, his own tech, against him.  Wasn’t it the same thing?

No, brain, fuck you, not it’s not.  It was a mistake.  Hopefully, he hadn’t smashed his sensitive snowflake into too many pieces and he could still fit them together and make them whole.

Bruce hadn’t moved, not even looking at Tony, huddled like an island in a lake of despair.

“But, it’s not your fault, Tony,” Bruce continued after a few heartbeats.  “I shouldn’t have…”

Bruce was cut off by the surprise of water sloshing over him, over the edge to soak the floor, as Tony fell into the tub, clothes and all.  Tony straddled Bruce from behind, wrapping his legs around his waist and pulling his shoulders back against his chest.

“Never again,” Tony vowed, whispering directly into Bruce’s ear.  “I’m never going to leave you alone again.”

“You can’t promise that, Tony,” Bruce said.  Tony couldn’t see his face, but he heard the waver in his voice.

“I can promise whatever I want.  I might actually deliver on it, too. I make mistakes, but I don’t repeat them.”

“How many times have you been to rehab?”

Tony ignored the jab.  He rocked them forward and back until he could feel Bruce starting to unfold a little.  Not a lot—his arms were still locked around his knees—but just enough to know that they were going to be ok.  He felt something deep in his chest start to unknot a little in response.

“I’m a horrible Dom,” Tony said into Bruce’s neck.

Bruce turned around so that Tony could see how his nose was wrinkled in confusion.  “Dom?”

“Yeah, and you’re my sub.”

The wrinkles deepened, but Bruce’s arms loosened a little more.  “Is that how we’re going to describe us?”

Tony shrugged.  “I’m your Dom, you’re my sub.  Can you think of something better?”

Bruce leaned back into Tony’s chest, legs straightening out in front of him.  Tony scooted back to accommodate him until he was reclining against the smooth marble.

“How about something polysyllabic at least…like ‘nucleus and electron’ or ‘function and variable’.”

Lovers.  Boyfriends.  Partners.  He swallowed the words down.  No need to freak the poor man out even more.

Tony picked up a bottle of body wash and squeezed some into his hands.  He rubbed it into Bruce’s shoulder, massaging the last of the tension down his arms and out his fingertips.  Bruce went limp, letting the water take his weight.  He seemed to be slipping back into the hazy warmth of exhaustion.  It was a good time to get an honest answer out of him while his defenses were lowered.

Tony sluiced water over Bruce’s shoulders to wash away the soap.  “Was there anything that you _liked_ about tonight?  Or was it all horrible?” he asked, voice pitched low.

Bruce was already pink from the bath, but his flush deepened across the back of his neck.  “No…not all of it.  I liked the blindfold.  It was like I was somewhere else for a little while.  It was easier to just feel.  And the…the ropes were ok…if you like them.”

Tony pressed a kiss to the spot where his neck met his shoulders.  He tasted clean and bitter from the soap.  Bruce didn’t even flinch.

“You were beautiful like that.  God, just thinking about it…” Tony pressed his hips forward so Bruce could feel his cock twitch. 

“Then, yeah, I would do that again…if you want to watch. Just don’t leave me alone.  I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Tony leaned his head on Bruce’s shoulder and sighed.  “Are we ok?”

Bruce wrapped his arms around Tony’s, holding them across his middle.  “Yeah, we’re ok.”

“Wanna go blow up some tanks in the middle of the desert to celebrate?”

“Oh, hell yes.”

Yeah, they were ok.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your feedback is invaluable. No, seriously, it is!


	23. Turbulence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce really doesn't like planes.

The next day found Bruce comfortably ensconced in the lush leather seat of a Stark Industries jet en route to New Mexico.  Across the small table, Tony was engrossed in his phone, thumb flicking back and forth across the holographic screen.  A flight attendant in a blue Stark Industries uniform served them drinks (ice water for Bruce, scotch for Tony) and offered them a variety of refreshments, but Bruce’s stomach was knotted too tightly to think of food.

Sudden turbulence rocked the plane and the glasses jumped on the table.  Bruce’s hand flew to the armrests and he dug his fingers into the pliant leather as he shut his eyes and tried to count to 100 in Portuguese. 

“It’s a small plane,” Tony murmured without looking up from his phone. “We’re going to get knocked around a bit, but it’s not as bad as it feels.”

Bruce nodded and peeled his fingers off the armrest.  The sky was clear and blue outside the window, an ocean of clouds stretching out below them as far as he could see.  He reminded himself that both the Mark V and the Mark XVII were safely hidden away in the fortified cargo hold.  If anything did happen, Tony could get the suit to catch him in mid-air, and probably save the pilot and flight attendants.  And well, the Other Guy would take care of himself.

Bruce swallowed roughly and tried to take a drink of water, but his hand shook and the ice clinked in the glass.  Tony looked up.

“Feeling a little green?” he asked, one eyebrow quirking up in question.

“Airborne, pressurized metal containers are not my preferred mode of transport,” he said.  He managed to set the glass on the table without too much noise.

“You need a distraction,” Tony said.  “Let me give you the grand tour.”

The private jet _was_ big enough to warrant a tour, it was true.  Tony stood and stretched and walked down the aisle towards the rear of the plane.  Bruce fumbled with the seat belt—because of course he was buckled in, though Tony had unfastened his belt right after take-off—and followed.

“This is one of the larger jets because we needed…extra cargo space,” Tony said as they strolled lazily from room to room.  “It’s used a lot for overseas travel, long trips, things like that.”

The first room behind the executive lounge where they had been sitting was a business center with a large conference table at one end.  An entertainment lounge with gaming consoles, multiple plasma screens, and a full bar was behind the next door.  Tony opened the door to the next room to reveal a luxurious bedroom in shades of gold and brown.  The bed in the corner was smaller than Tony’s bed at home, but the rich velvet coverlet looked impossibly inviting compared to the stark, cold feel of the rest of the jet.

“Can you sleep on a plane?”

“Uh, no, not unless there are elephant tranquilizers involved,” Bruce admitted.

Tony ushered him in and closed the door behind them.  “Good,” he said.  “I would hate to think I’m interrupting your chance to rest.”

Bruce realized he had just stepped into the secret clubhouse of the mile-high club. 

Tony unzipped his hoodie and toed off his designer sneakers.  His eyes were bright and intense, but the lines around his lips and at the corner of his eyes were soft and gentle.  Tony looked at Bruce as if he was the most awe-inspiring vision the billionaire had ever seen.  So why did Bruce feel like he was walking into a trap?

“There’s a shower and everything through there,” Tony said, indicating a door off to the side, “and the closet over there is full of clothes.  You know.  Just in case.”

Tony let himself fall back on the bed with an exaggerated sigh and dragged his hands through his hair before sitting up again.

“Hey, sit down here,” Tony said.  He scooted over a few inches to give Bruce room.

Bruce sat down on the edge of the bed.  The bedroom gave the illusion of security and safety, as if they were in a little boutique hotel room instead of in a sardine can rocketing through the sky, but Bruce could _feel_ how small the space was around him.  The air pressed on him from every angle.  He could feel it in his eardrums.  In his claustrophobic state, he wanted to be as far away from Tony as he could get.

But Tony, because he was fucking Tony, had to move even _closer_ to him until they were pressed arm to arm.  And then he reached around to push Bruce’s jacket off his shoulders and Bruce flinched _hard_.

Tony snatched his hands back as if he had touched molten gold.  Bruce’s heart stopped for a second, horrified at the fact that he had just cowered away from Tony—Tony, of all people, who had been actively working towards his acceptance and never given him a reason to distrust him.

Bruce wasn’t looking, but he felt the bed shift as Tony moved away from him a little.

“Bruce, it’s ok,” Tony said.  “It’s not your fault.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said.  “My nerves are shot.”

“You’re jumpier than a cat on an electric fence.  But it’s ok.  You’re not used to flying.  Let’s just get more comfortable.”

Bruce nodded, but Tony’s words did nothing to calm him.  He took off his jacket and shoes and untucked his shirt before Tony could move to help him.  The plane hit another patch of turbulence, and Bruce jumped at the sudden bolt as a bright hot flash of adrenaline coursed through his blood.

Don’t freak out.  Please please please don’t freak out, he repeated silently.

Tony stretched out on the bed on side closest to the bulwark.  Bruce scooted back and laid down, as stiff and still as a steel beam.  Tony turned on his side and propped himself up on one elbow so he could look down on Bruce, who kept his eyes resolutely on the ceiling.

After a long moment, Tony let himself fall onto his back on the bed.  He folded his arms behind his head and stared up into the ceiling along with Bruce.

“I hate this—I hope you know I’m doing this under duress because you think you’re going to die or kill us all or something and I don’t want us to end like that—but I think I did something wrong.”

The plan lurched again.  Bruce gripped the coverlet and concentrated on the soft, plush velvet between his fingers. 

“I think I was too rough on you last night,” Tony continued.  “Later—after--I saw what it did to you, and it’s still bothering you right now.”

“No, Tony, I said it was fine.  I’m fine.”

“You’re a nervous wreck.”

“The plane…”

“Is easier than flying in a quinjet…or spending multiple days on an airborne aircraft carrier.  You are twitchier than normal, and I’m pretty sure it’s my fault.”  Tony turned to look at him.

“I don’t feel…safe...here.  On a plane.”

“That’s my whole point, Bruce.  You should feel safe here—anywhere—with me.  You should trust me that I’m gonna look out for you and take care of you and I won’t put you into any situation I don’t think you can handle.  But you don’t right now, because I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain.”

Bruce closed his eyes.  He didn’t want to admit that he felt wary and uncertain around Tony after the rough night before, but it was true.  His trust in Tony had been complete and now something had changed within him, shifted deeply so that he couldn’t let his guard down.

“So…” Bruce said, looking sidelong at Tony, “how do we fix this?”

“Do you _want_ to fix it?  I mean, I don’t know if this is something you’re doing for me or if you’re doing it for you, too.”

Bruce paused.  So far, he’d been following Tony down this rabbit hole out of curiosity, to see if there was some way he could experience physical pleasure without worrying about destroying everything in a five mile radius, like some sort of meditation.  But now, it was something _more_.  He couldn’t explain it, but the thought of ending what he and Tony had gave him such a desperate sense of loss and loneliness that he would do anything to prevent that from happening.

“I want to fix it,” Bruce said.  “I still don’t think you did anything wrong.  I—“

Tony cut him off with a finger across his lips.  “You did only what I asked you to do.  And you did it beautifully.  That’s what throws me for a loop: you can and would do anything I ask of you.  But that doesn’t mean that you should have to.  I promised I wouldn’t hurt you, but I did.  Not physically, no…but that’s not how you tick.  I should have stopped when you started crying.”

“Then…why didn’t you?”

“I thought you needed to let go of all that frustration.  I wanted to be the catalyst in your catharsis.  But…mostly…because I’m selfish.  You don’t know how you looked, the ropes across your skin, the stillness of every line, the way your breathing shifted the line of muscles down you back…Bruce, it was fucking _poetry.”_

A thrill of…something…raced through Bruce as he listened to Tony.  

“We could do that again.  I’m willing to try, if I know you’re there with me.  Watching me.”

Tony’s rakish grin was answer enough.

“But what do we do now?” Bruce continued.

Tony sighed.  “I don’t know.”

Bruce sat up.  “I have an idea,” he said.

Bruce turned to straddle Tony’s thighs.  He unbuckled Tony’s belt and pulled, and Tony lifted his hips so the belt slid off smoothly.  His breathing was quick, and his eyes were dark with lust.  Bruce moved off Tony’s legs and settled on his knees beside him, holding out the belt.

Tony took it hesitantly.  “What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked.

Bruce smiled.  “Anything you want.”

Tony inhaled sharply.  “Are you sure, Bruce?  Anything?”

“Show me I can trust you.  Show me I can be safe with you.”

Tony nodded.  “Close your eyes,” he said.

Bruce did. He felt Tony draw both of his hands in front of him, so he held them there.  Warm, firm leather wrapped around them like an infinity symbol, over and under again and again before it was drawn tighter and buckled.  Then his arms were lifted so that Tony could duck under and slip them over his head and around his neck.  Tony wrapped his arms around his waist then lowered them back down so they were lying facing each other, wrapped in each other’s embrace.

“Open your eyes,” Tony whispered.

Bruce opened his eyes to see Tony almost nose-to-nose with him.

“Is this ok?” Tony said.

His arms were warm and heavy around him, hard and soft and secure. “Yeah, Tony.  More than ok.”

Turbulence made the plane shake and groan around them, but Tony’s arms tightened and held him fast.  Tony pressed his head against his shoulder and rocked him until the plane evened out.

They laid there for the rest of the flight, Tony petting and soothing him through the rough weather, and Bruce felt his eyes finally grow heavy with sleep.  He was drifting, mind flitting between sleep and consciousness when Tony’s voice cut through the dreamy fog.

“Would this be a bad time to mention that Rhodey is meeting us at the landing strip?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for a the support and comments. The feedback you give me really helps me know if I'm heading in the right direction or going off the deep end. Oh, and Tony gets to blow stuff up in the next chapter, so stay tuned!


	24. The Proving Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big kids need play time, too. And both Tony and Rhodey get to know Bruce's Other Side a little bit better.

“Welcome to Iron Works, where good engineers go when they die,” Tony said as they disembarked.

The dry desert air brought back more memories than he expected.  Tony drew a deep breath into his lungs and nearly choked on the smell of dust, heat, and smoke.  That was better.  The desert of his memories was arid but cold with the sharp tang of snow and wet rock.  He flipped his sunglasses on as he sauntered down the airstairs and told himself it was because of the glare of the sun on the tarmac and not because he didn’t want Rhodey to see the look in his eyes.

But then Bruce stumbled out of the plane, all tense limbs and nervous energy, nearly pitching them both down the stairs.  Tony held out a hand to steady him, and Bruce smiled sheepishly in return, and then Tony could turn and face the man waiting below for them.

“Rhodey!” Tony called out.

Rhodey’s face split into a grin.  “Hey, Martini,” he said in return.  “Quite a place you got here.”

Bruce was walking slowly towards them, eyes roving around the barren landscape, marking the position of each low building and squinting into the horizon. 

“Rhodey, you’ve met Bruce,” Tony beckoned Bruce closer.

“Yeah, right after Manhattan.”

 Tony hoped Rhodey couldn’t see how he winced at that word.

“Uh, Colonel Rhodes…nice to see you again,” Bruce stammered, but he held out his hand to Rhodey, who shook it firmly.

And damn, it _was_ nice to see Rhodey.  He had taken Tony’s advice and dressed down in a faded gray MIT shirt and well-worn jeans.  He looked as relaxed as his soldier-square shoulders would ever allow him to look, but an aura of confidence and surety surrounded him and made Tony’s defenses crumble.  There was a coolness about Rhodey that always tempered the fire inside Tony, balanced him in a way that he forgot when Rhodey wasn’t around.

Well, until he met Bruce.  Who, at that moment, was trying very hard to not look nervous and self-conscious and failing miserably as he wrung his hands together.  He was shorter than Rhodey and standing close enough that he had to look up into Rhodey’s face.

“No, man, call me Jim,” Rhodey said as took off his mirror aviators so that Bruce could see how his smile reached to his eyes.  Good ol’ Rhodey.

“Call him Rhodey,” Tony said.

“Only if he can call you Martini,” Rhodey returned.  He reached out to shake Tony’s hand, but pulled him into a tight hug, patting him on the back before letting go.

“He can call me Sugar Daddy if he wants,” Tony said.  He flashed them both a bright smile before heading off towards the golf cart that would take them to the main testing facility and the bombing course. 

Tony jumped into the driver’s seat, and Rhodey deferred shotgun to Bruce.

“How do you live with him?” Rhodey asked.

“A lot of explosions,” Bruce said. 

Rhodey’s laugh was cut short as Tony hit the accelerator a little too hard, rocketing the golf cart down the deserted runway.  “Jesus, Tony!” Rhodey said.  “Only you could get a DUI in a golf cart.”

“’M not drunk,” Tony assured him.

“Bullshit,” Rhodey said as they swerved into a low hanger where the crate containing the Mark XVII was being brought on a forklift.

“Bruce, what have I had to drink today?”

“Uh…a scotch on the plane?”

Tony glanced over his shoulder at Rhodey to see his eyebrows raised in surprise as he looked appraisingly between Tony to Bruce and back again.

They skidded to a stop in the middle of the hanger and Tony supervised the lowering of the crate to the ground before dismissing the last of the workers.  He waited for the hanger door to roll shut before releasing the electronic lock on the crate with his phone.

Air hissed as the hermetic seal was broken.  The crate’s interior lights came to life, illuminating the Mark XVII in shades of silver and gold.  Rhodey barely waited for the crate to finish opening before jumping onto the short platform inside.  He glided his hands down the graceful curves as if it was a classic car, nimble fingers exploring the intricacies of the joints and seams.

“Tony…this is…it’s….what’s his name?” Rhodey said when he could tear his gaze away from the suit.

Tony looked back at Bruce.  The physicist was sitting sideways on the seat of the golf cart, arms resting on his knees and a faint smile on his lips.  He looked like he was enjoying the sight of him and Rhodey interacting.  Watching.  Always watching from the outside.

“Heartbreaker,” Tony answered.  “His codename is Heartbreaker.”

Rhodey stepped back to size up the suit.  “Martini, you don’t need _any_ help in that department.”

“Oh, he’s a fighter, not a lover,” Bruce cut in.

“It’s on,” Rhodey said, eyes dark and ferocious with competitive spirit.

****

“War Machine online and ready for duty,” Rhodey’s electronic voice sparked over the comm.

“Iron Man ready to rock and roll.”

“Banner locked and loaded.  First barrage in 5…4…”

“Fuck it, Bruce, let it rip!”

Tony swooped down close to where Bruce was safely hidden behind the massive blast shield with the tablet that controlled the automated weapons systems.  Rhodey hovered in the distance.  Spread beneath them, the expansive desert was littered with decommissioned Abrahams, Bradleys, and the odd propane tank—just for fun.

The first wave of live explosives launched their way were ordinary mortars, loud and predictable and easy to dodge.  The primary goal of the day’s exercise was to test the maneuverability of the heavy suit under duress.  Iron Man sailed between the mortars, barrel-rolling and careening between them in the air.  Rhodey took the more sensible route and shot up into the sky, far out of range.  Of course, Tony couldn’t really blame him.  He was so bogged down by Hammer Tech it was a miracle that he could even get off the ground anymore.  Really, Tony thought, he should do something about that…soon.

But his next thought was interrupted by the anti-aircraft missiles that fired from their underground launchers.  Those were slow, too, to the point that Tony thought Bruce was holding back.  Really, he had been given control of lot bigger guns—

And then the drone appeared, creeping low on the horizon so as not to cast a shadow before letting loose with the machine guns mounted under each wing.  Tony rolled, but the drone rolled with him, tight on his tail.

“I got a lock,” Rhodey said as he swept down behind it from above.

But then Bruce pulled it up hard so that Rhodey nearly clipped the nose as he flew past, barreling towards Tony.  Tony banked to the side to let Rhodey pass and circled around towards the drone. 

“Enough fucking around,” Tony said.  He was on the offensive now, all laser focus and deadly force.

The suit was faster than the drone, and far more agile, but Bruce must have grown up flying model planes or playing a fuck load of flight simulators or something because he managed to evade Tony and Rhodey for several minutes before Tony finally caught the wing as it flew past.  It pitched hard under his weight, but it didn’t matter because Tony blasted the wing right off the body with his repulsors and watched it crash in a fiery blur into a propane tank.

Tony flipped in the air and stuck his signature three-point landing in a cloud of dust a few feet away from Bruce.

“Not bad,” Tony said.

Rhodey landed a few feet away.

“Hey, I thought we were going to test the munitions?” Rhodey sounded downright disappointed.

“We are,” Tony said.  “Bruce, you game?  This retired military shit is no challenge.  I feel like I’m playing duck hunt with .50 cal sniper rifle.”

Bruce looked absolutely aghast, shocked into speechlessness. Rhodey’s helmet flipped up and he looked from Tony to Bruce and back again before realization dawned on him.

“No…You’re not…what are you suggesting?” Rhodey asked warily.

“I’m not letting Bruce be the last one picked for dodge ball.”

“Tony…” Bruce’s voice was low with warning.

“It’s fine!  It’s safe!  Well, as safe as it’s ever going to be.  We’re in the middle of fuck-all nowhere, on my private blow-shit-up range with no witness for hundreds of miles.  And you have not one, but—count them—TWO badasses to corral the Big Guy if he decides to go rogue.  What more could you want?”

“Uh…to go home to a cup of tea and a nice nap?”

“Exactly!  And it will feel so good after we have some superhero play time! And then you can have all the milk and cookies you want and I’ll even tuck you in.”

“Superhero…” Rhodey’s voice sounded dreamy and reverent when he repeated the word, like he could hardly believe his life.

“See?” Tony said, pointing a gilded finger at Rhodey.  “He understands.”

“I don’t…I can’t…” Bruce was looking at Rhodey as he stammered.

Tony took Bruce by the shoulder and walked him away a few feet. He retracted his visor so he could look Bruce in the eyes. “Brucie, buddy, Rhodey is…Rhodey isn’t like other people.  He understands…well, he understands _me._ He’s been with me forever, and it takes a hell of a lot courage and loyalty to put up with what I’ve put him through.  It took me a long time to realize it, but when he took that suit, I was _happy_ that he did.  I knew that if anyone could be Iron Man, it was him.”

Bruce was rubbing his hands together again and looking down into the dust.  “Tony, he could…he’s military, Tony.”

“Yeah, he is.  But so is Steve.  And I want him to _see,_ Bruce.  I want him to see what you can do.  Hell, I want _you_ to see what you can do.  I know I’ve really fucked up the trust between us—“

“No, Tony, you haven’t, I swear.”

“—but if he sees the truth, he’s one hell of an ally on the inside.”

Bruce took a deep breath.  And another.  “Ok.  Ok, Tony…but…just don’t let me hurt anyone.  No matter what, ok?”

Tony flipped his visor back down.  “You won’t.  I promise.”

Bruce looked at him one last time, eyes impossibly serene and a look of resignation on his face.  With deliberate movements, he pulled off his shirt and set it on the ground before unbuckling his watch and taking off his glasses and setting them down on top.  He blinked, and when his eyes opened they were green. 

The change was fast, thank God, because it looked painful as hell.  Bruce doubled over for second, hands gripping either side of his head as his muscles rippled and flexed and burst through the seams of his pants.  With a roar, the Hulk straightened up to his full height.

The sound echoed over the barren landscape and rattled Tony inside his gold-titanium shell.

“Martini!  What’s your status?!” Rhodey’s panicked voice crackled in his ear.

“A-Ok Sugar Bear.  Have you met the other Avenger?”

“Fuck you, Tony.”

“Maybe later, Sweetums.  I’ve got a bigger case of frustration to deal with right now.”

Hulk was panting, glaring around in a search for danger.  His gaze lit upon the shattered remains of the crashed drone and he bounded towards it.  It was still smoking, but Hulk wasn’t deterred as he proceeded to shred it like a paper airplane.

“Hey!  Big Green! I’ve missed ya!”

Hulk turned, a fistful of twisted metal in each hand.  Tony’s heart stuttered for a moment in his chest before Hulk’s expression turned from feral to dawning recognition.  He roared to the sky, but it sounded more like a…greeting?...than aggressive rage.

“Tony, you crazy bastard, what are you _doing_?” Rhodey said.  He hovered near, obviously hesitant to come closer.

“Tin Man!” Hulk bellowed.

“Yeah!”  Tony said.  He landed—softly, this time.  “You’re just in time for recess.  But you have to meet our other buddy first. Rhodey, come here!”

“No.”

“Yes.  Get over here before he catches your negative vibes.”

Rhodey floated down slowly, drifting over their heads to land behind Tony.  At least, he tried to, but he underestimated the Hulk’s speed and agility when Hulk’s hand snapped up and snatched him out of the air.

“Jesus! Tony! What—Tony!”

“Hey, Big Guy, Brucie, that’s Jim.  Rhodey.  He’s a buddy. Rhodey, don’t fight, just don’t fight.”

Hulk held him squirming between his two hands like a toddler with a wriggling puppy.  Rhodey had one hand up in front of him, repulsors aimed right between the two huge green eyes, but he dropped it at the sound of Tony’s voice.  Hulk gave him one last shake, as if to make sure the fight had gone out of him, before setting him down on the ground.

“Tin Man, too.”

Rhodey hefted himself to his feet. “I’m not Iron Man! I’m War—“ he seemed to realize what he was about to say, “—I’m Tin Jim.”

Hulk snarl-smiled.  “Tin Jim,” he repeated, poking Rhodey in the stomach.

“See?  He likes you,” Tony said.

“I don’t believe this—after everything we’ve been through, Tony, and you still manage to scare the hell out of me every time I see you.”

Hulk was quickly losing interest in the exchange.  Too much talking, not enough incendiaries.  Story of their life, Tony knew.

“Hey, there’s a jeep over there that I bet would make a really good shot put,” Tony said.  “Race you there?”

Hulk won because, damn it, Hulk deserved to win one.  And because he was a lot faster over land than Rhodey was at getting over his shock. 

“I think you can throw that jeep pretty far, Big Guy.  Farther than either of us.  Wanna see how far?  We’ll measure it.”

“Hulk strongest!” Hulk affirmed as he lifted the jeep with one huge hand wrapped around the chassis.

“I know!  But we’ll have empirical evidence if we measure it.”

Hulk grunted and grinned and heaved the jeep.  It sailed through the air with surprisingly aerodynamic grace before tumbling to the ground so far away that it looked like a Matchbox car lost in a sandbox.

“Good boy!” Tony crowed. 

Then, the Hulk turned to look at him, and it was as if he truly _saw_ Tony for the first time. He stared deep into Tony’s face, and Tony was shocked to notice the flecks of brown in the green eyes.

“My turn,” Tony said.  He flew over to the jeep and threw it back, but it landed quite short of where the Hulk stood.

Hulk’s laugh was like the rumbling of fault lines that signals an earthquake. 

Rhodey took a turn, too, but no one could come close to the Hulk’s throw.

Then, Tony suggested baseball.  “Except for, you know, no bases.  Or bats.  And we use heavy machinery instead of a ball.  Or, just whatever, throw the big ass truck and I’ll turn it into fireworks.”

Baseball, apparently, was a great Hulk game.  He delighted in tossing the various vehicles into the sky for Tony and Rhodey to blow into pieces.  When they ran out, he threw the propane tanks, which made spectacular, tiny supernovas that he liked even more than the tanks.  And then, just for fun, he sat down and twisted the metal into confetti.

Rhodey and Tony sat in the shade of the warped wing of the unsalvageable drone, watching the Hulk as he gleefully bounded through the sand and smoking rubble.

“Did you have fun, Rhodey?” Tony asked.

“I’d call you crazy, Tony, but my internal insanity rating system has been permanently disabled.  By you.”

“So, think you can make friends?  Can we let him into the super cool kids club?”

“Yeah, that—“ Rhodey pointed to the Hulk, using a piece of broken propeller as a lever to crack open a tank “—that’s exactly what we’ve been missing in this relationship.”

But Rhodey’s smile was indulgent and he was still there, watching the Hulk at play.  And if Tony had learned one thing after all these years, it was that if Rhodey hadn’t left him by now, he never would.

****

They managed to coax Hulk towards the shade as he started to look tired and wan.  Tony hadn’t seen him transform back into Bruce after the Battle of Manhattan, so he wasn’t prepared for how intimate it was to watch the brute strength of the Hulk slowly collapse and shrink into Bruce’s deceptively small, familiar form.  Tony tore off his helmet and knelt beside Bruce as he instinctively curled his knees into his chest.

“Uh, Tony, is he ok?”

“Yeah, yeah.  Give us a moment, Rhodey?”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Actually, yeah. Food.  Something vegetarian.”

“Sure.  Vegetarian food in the middle of the desert.  No problem.”

Bruce shivered and drew tighter into himself.  Rhodey didn’t leave immediately; he rummaged around in the emergency kit of the golf cart that Bruce had taken out to the range and came up with a rough brown wool blanket.  He handed it to Tony before blasting off into the sky.

Tony wrapped the blanket around Bruce and tucked it between him and the hot ground.  Bruce showed no sign of waking.  The suit’s internal temperature controls were compromised when his helmet was off and sweat started to drip down Tony’s neck to soak his collar. 

“Ok, Snowflake, time to get you inside before you melt.”

Tony put his helmet back on and carefully lifted Bruce into his arms.  He activated the booster rockets on his back so he could fly without his hand stabilizers, and flew them away from range.  Bruce was so limp in his grasp that he worried that there _was_ something wrong before JARVIS reassured him that his vitals were stable. 

Tony had never seen Bruce so vulnerable.  Even when he slept, Bruce was constantly vigilant against the slightest threat.  But now, passed out with inhuman exhaustion, there was no way he could defend himself.  Tony remembered words from so many days and months ago…

_I don’t get a suit…_

_…raw, like a nerve…_

He could imagine how horrible those moments must be for Bruce before he gave himself over to the Hulk, not knowing where he would wake up, if it would be far from resources, or in the middle of a war zone, or back in a cold adamantium cage.    No wonder he never felt safe.

Tony knew that feeling.  Heck, he and that feeling had known each other well after the caves…before he built the armor.

Before the armor.

Bruce needed armor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering, Rhodey's nickname for Tony came from the Iron Man 3 Prelude comics. I just thought it was perfect when I read it, so I had to put it in the story. And Iron Works comes from the Ultimate Human series.


	25. Mark 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Bruce sleeps, Tony works on a surprise.

The first thing Bruce was aware of was the scratchy wool blanket beneath him.  This was a definite improvement over the usual circumstances in which he found himself after waking from an…incident.  He could sense that he was lying low to the ground in a large, open room, and daylight burned red through his eyelids.  After a moment, a murmur of voices became more distinct.

“…falling in love with your own creation, Tony.”

“Everyone falls in love with my creations.  I’m the modern Pygmalion, graced by the gods. 

 

Oh, hey, Bruce is waking up.”

A warm, heavy hand adjusted the folds of the blanket across his shoulder and brushed the dusty curls off his forehead.  Bruce opened his eyes to see Tony, just close enough to touch.  He blinked and took stock of his situation.  He was lying on a cot in the corner of a hanger or a warehouse or something.   Tony and Rhodey were sitting on the concrete floor with a sea of take-out containers spread between them.

Tony reached under the cot and came up with Bruce’s glasses.  “Welcome back, Big Guy,” he said as he held them out.  “You didn’t hurt anyone.  Or anything that didn’t deserve it.”

Bruce tried to answer, but all that came out was a rough cough.  Tony put the glasses down and picked up a bottle of water to hand him instead.  Bruce couldn’t help his grimace as he rose on his elbows and took the bottle.  The world was too bright, too many different sounds and scents and sensations that his overworked brain didn’t want to process. 

But then Tony’s hand was back, resting on his shoulder, and the static in his head receded a little.  He managed to take a long swallow of the water before falling back down with a groan.  Transforming always ate up his energy and left him shivering with cold, but the heat of Tony’s hand helped ground him and draw him out of the haze. 

“Hungry?  Rhodey got lunch from some Ayurvedic restaurant in Albuquerque .”

Bruce could smell ginger and cumin and his stomach growled before he could voice an answer.  He didn’t really feel like talking anyway; it felt like the neuropathways that connected words to meanings needed to be rebooted.   Tony wasn’t fazed and pulled him upright (careful to keep him covered with the blanket, which probably meant that his pants hadn’t survived) and shoved a paper container and a fork into his hands.

“It got cold, so we microwaved it. I hope it didn’t kill the magical healing properties or something,” Tony said.  “But Rhodey blew up the microwave, so it got cold again.”

“I did _not_.  You tried to double the power output.”

“You used it last.  It blew up.  You blew it up.”

“Forget it.  Just forget it.”

While the two friends bickered, Bruce recovered his motor skills enough to open the box and start shoveling the food into his mouth.  Mataar paneer and basmati rice with a huge side of green beans and yellow squash.  Yeah, he could see why Rhodey was Tony’s best friend—he tried.  He really did.

There was more food than he could eat and Tony kept spooning more onto his plate whenever it was nearly empty.  After a while, Bruce felt the pieces of his mind sliding into place like a jigsaw puzzle, though his body still wanted nothing more than to sleep and digest.  He was falling asleep over his half-full plate when Tony took it from his lax hands and tipped him over to lie on the cot. 

The last thing he heard was Tony’s voice close to his ear: “Just rest.  We’re right here.”

****

Awareness returned slowly.  Bruce could hear voices, but they were indistinct and seemed very far away.  He blinked and saw Tony and Rhodey on either side of him, supporting him under each arm as they helped him walk over to the little golf cart—it was only a few feet away, but it felt like several long minutes passed before he could sink into the back seat.  Rhodey drove this time so that Tony could ride with an arm around Bruce.  By the time they arrived at the plane, Bruce was awake enough to trudge up the stairs, though he did stumble once.  But Rhodey’s hand splayed across his back from behind and steadied him, remaining there even after he recovered his balance.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve had to get a drunken Tony up these steps,” Rhodey said.

They settled into the entertainment lounge where the seats were more like leather couches than airline seats.  Tony brought loose gym pants and an SI logoed shirt from the bedroom closet, and Bruce managed to slip them on with only a small loss of modesty.  He kept the blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape, though, because he liked the tactile roughness of the cloth.  Rhodey disappeared to make sure that War Machine and Iron Man were stowed away safely, and they were off a few minutes later.

Bruce never could sleep on planes, but then again, he had never been on a flight in a private jet after spending the morning as the Other Guy.  He was nodding out right after the stomach-dropping jolt of takeoff when he felt hands unbuckling his seat belt.

“You’ll be more comfortable in bed,” Tony said as he helped Bruce to his feet.

Tony guided him to the bed and pulled back the velvet coverlet.  The dust in Bruce’s pores felt tacky and itchy, but he was too tired to shower.  Tony didn’t seem to mind the grime in his bed, though; he drew the covers up to Bruce’s waist and tucked a bottle of water in next to him. 

“I leave the door open, are you ok in here?”

Bruce nodded.  “JARVIS?”

“Sure.  I’ll leave JARVIS with you.”  Tony took his phone out of his jacket pocket and placed it on the pillow next to Bruce’s ear.

“Good night, JARVIS,” Bruce mumbled.

“We’ll be in Malibu in 1 hour and 17 minutes,” JARVIS’s smooth voice intoned.  “In the meantime, may I play a live recording of the the ocean waves on the cliffs for you?”

“Mmm hmmm,” Bruce replied.

“Sleep well, Doctor Banner.”

He slept through the short flight as they chased the sun west.

****

The car ride from LAX to Tony’s Malibu house passed in a foggy blur.  Bruce knew he got off the plane somehow, and then he was tucked into the backseat of a town car with windows tinted dark.  And then there was the smell of the ocean, crisp and charged with negative ions.  But the details in between were lost in the haze.

The first time Bruce fully woke, it was to the sound of waves—real this time, and not piped through the tinny speakers of a cell phone—masked by the hum of the air conditioner.  The room was very dark, and he flailed in the unfamiliar sheets for a moment before the entire wall of the room shimmered and dissolved into a floor-to-ceiling window.  The night outside was bright, and clear moonlight reflected off the churning water and spilled into the bedroom and across Bruce’s face. 

“Doctor Banner,” JARVIS said quietly, “You are in Malibu, California.  The time is 11:53 pm.  The current temperature is 66 degrees. Colonel Rhodes is asleep in the south bedroom, and Mr. Stark is in the garage.”

Bruce groaned and rolled over to go back to sleep.

The next time Bruce woke, the bedroom was filled with sunlight.  The room was cool and quiet, and while it was bright, the sun had not quite come up over the house to shine directly into his bedroom.

“What time is it, JARVIS?”  His voice throat felt like sandpaper.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Banner.  The current time is 2:30 pm.  Would you like the surf report?”

“Ah…no…thank you.  Where are Tony and Rhodey?”

“Mr. Stark is currently in the garage and Colonel Rhodes is in the pool.”

“Ah, thank you.  How about a shower?”

“Of course, Doctor Banner.  The door to the right.  There are clothes in the closet for you.”

Bruce sat on the edge of the bed for a moment before standing, preparing himself for the drop in blood pressure so he wouldn’t faint.  He could stand after a moement, and he stumbled to the adjoined bathroom and stripped off the sweat pants and shirt he was still wearing from the plane.  The hot water revived him a little, and he felt human enough to venture a glance in the mirror.  Not too bad.  His short curls were plastered to his head, and he scratched at the salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin.  But the shadows under his eyes were not as dark as they could be, and his face—sharp angles rounded out by eating more regularly in the past year at Stark Tower than he may have ever in his life—did not look as haunted as he felt. 

In the closet hung several soft cotton button-down shirts in dark, rich tones of purple and orange, two pairs of jeans, and two pairs of brown slacks.  He chose the slacks and an eggplant-colored shirt and went barefoot into the living room.

As soon as he crossed the threshold into the living room, Bruce could see why Tony was so eager to return home.  Malibu was so clearly _Tony_.  He had never before realized that the penthouse in New York was built more for Iron Man than the person inside him.

A waterfall cascaded from ceiling to floor, hiding the staircase that Bruce descended.  There was a baby grand piano in one corner, and the entire west wall was a window onto the Malibu cliffs and the infinite expanse of the Pacific.  The minimalistic furniture was all clean, white, cool lines. 

Bruce could feel the Other Guy, sated and satisfied and content to lie dormant in the California sunshine.  He could get used to this.

JARVIS told him where the tea was kept, and he managed to boil water without any trouble.  At least Tony still believed in a tea kettle and a stove, even if the toaster looked like something rejected by NASA as too sentient to risk in space. 

“Doctor Banner, Mr. Stark requests your presence in the garage at your earliest convenience,” JARVIS said.

“Ok, I’m coming,” Bruce said.

Bruce grabbed his mug and followed JARVIS’s directions down the staircase.  The spiral stairs led down several twists and turns, presumably down into the cliff side, before ending in a glass wall with a keypad and a yellow sticky note that read “Keep Out.  Top Secret.”

Bruce hesitated, but JARVIS unlocked the keypad and the glass door slid open for him.  He was greeted with the blaring power chords of a band he didn’t recognize.  Metal workbenches and toolboxes littered the space in front of him before it opened up into a cavernous room lit with blue track lighting.  There was a long line of expensive cars and motorcycles in one end, and a particle accelerator—really, Tony, really?—on the other.   To be fair, the particle accelerator had to go through the wall and it was still a bad fit, but really?

Tony sat at a sleek, black workstation with a row of screens displaying schematics for a new suit in several different views.  Bruce wasn’t surprised.  Now that Tony had tested his latest creation and found it to be satisfactory, it was on to the next suit, the next generation, the newer purpose.  But Bruce didn’t resent it at all because he knew that it was how Tony kept from going insane.

“Doctor Banner has arrived as requested, Sir,” JARVIS warned Tony when it was obvious he didn’t notice Bruce’s entry.

Tony jumped and typed a last command before standing up.

“Bruce, how are you feeling?”

“Pretty good.  Better than I have in a long time,” Bruce admitted.  “Thanks…uh…thanks for taking care of me.  I’m pretty out of it…after…”

“Yeah,” Tony said so softly that it was barely more than a breath.  “I know.  Well, I used to know, but now I _know_.”

“Well, thank you,” Bruce said.  He looked around and noticed that the garage was in disarray, with wires and circuit boards littering the workstations, and bits of different metals piled into a crate on the floor.  Several half-full glasses and bottles of water sat on the benches and tables.  Tony had been at work for several hours at least.  “Have you been here the entire time I was sleeping.”

Tony ran a greasy hand through his equally greasy hair.  His grin turned from excited to a bit sheepish.  “Yeah, but I’m almost done.   Well, not finished, but almost at a good stopping point.  It’s ok.  Rhodey brings coffee.  Dummy used to, but he’s in New York, and I really should have brought him, but he doesn’t like planes and he _hates_ New Mexico and—“

“Tony, what are you working on?  The Mark XVIII?”

“No.  Mark I.”

Bruce frowned.  The specs on the screen looked nothing like the Mark !.  It was much sleeker, with far more articulation, though Bruce couldn’t tell much else from his brief glance.

“Mark I? Why are you going backwards?”

“No, no….a different…look, just stand here,” Tony said as he took Bruce’s shoulders and maneuvered him to stand more towards the middle of the floor.  “JARVIS, give me a 1:1 holographic display of the Snowflake Mark 1.”

Tony stepped back a few paces as JARVIS assembled a holographic display around Bruce.  Small dusky-white plates assembled around his torso and shoulders, and more joined them down his thighs and calves, then down his arms to encircle his wrists, but leaving his neck and head free.  The modular plates were joined at the seams with thick elastic joints so that it moved with him like a second skin.  He reached his hands up above his head and bend all the way forward to watch how the hypothetical armor flexed, and it held its shape not matter how he moved.

“What’s this for, Tony?” Bruce asked.

“For you, Bruce.”

Bruce laughed.  “Well, it isn’t going to last for long if I’m ever in a situation to need it.  Hulk will split these joints like Legos.”

“Watch,” Tony said.  He threw his hands out to his sides and the holographic armor blew up around him.  The plates shift and moved, joining into new shapes as more hidden elastic pulled tight on some parts and held secure in others.  It took a moment before Bruce realized that the holographic armor had taken on the shape of the Hulk.  The Hulk’s shoulders were still covered, as well as the heavy muscles of his chest and back, and—most importantly—his groin.  The modular plates also stretched across his thighs calves, wrapping around to protect essential tendons and ligaments. 

Bruce felt the Hulk wake up and take notice.  He was partially outraged that Tony would think he needed to be _protected_ after he had shown how strong he was.  But, another part felt like someone finally cared.

“I don’t know what to do about a helmet,” Tony said.  He sounded tired and worn, and Bruce knew right then that Tony hadn’t slept at all since they left the Tower.  “I can’t make the pieces break apart and expand without sacrificing the integrity of the helmet altogether.  It’s pointless.”

“It needs a force field, not a helmet.”

“Which needs a power source.  Like an arc reactor.  But the Hulk takes a lot harder hits than Iron Man, and that force could compromise the reactor and leak radiation everywhere.”

“Yeah, and the Hulk is radioactive enough as it is.  He’s a gamma battery.”

Tony froze and a strange, small smile played on his lips.  “You’re a genius, Bruce.”

“Only on paper.”

“Hulk is a battery.  He can power the armor.”

It clicked.  A catalytic converter that could capture gamma radiation…they could build that.  It wouldn’t be too different than a solar cell…well, maybe.

Tony threw himself back into his desk chair and typed furiously.

“Wait, Tony,” Bruce said, “The Other Guy doesn’t even _need_ armor.  This is just a waste of time and resources.”

Tony crossed his arms and pushed himself away from the computer so he could give Bruce his full attention.  “You didn’t hear me, did you?  This armor isn’t for Hulk; it’s for _you_.”

Several emotions washed over Bruce: relief that someone finally understood; disbelief that Tony had spent so much time dedicated to creating something so elegant and beautiful just for him; and hope that the Hulk would accept the armor and not rip it to shreds the first time it was used.

“Well,” Bruce managed to say without his voice wavering, “in that case, does it come in purple?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments make my day. Thank you so much for letting me know what you think about the story.


	26. Boys' Night Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three superheroes walk into a bar...

What could Tony say—when inspiration strikes, she strikes hard.  He was running on pure caffeine after 34 hours without sleep, but there was no way he was going to bed when he could watch Bruce work technological magic in his garage.  After a short brainstorming session with JARVIS, the two scientists had come up with a basic design for the catalytic converter and how to fit it into the chest piece of the suit.  The original design called for it to be centered in the chest plate, but it was too big to work with the expanding pectoral plates, so they split it into two smaller converters and placed one in each shoulder pauldron.  The force field had been easy enough to figure out—really, it was just a low-powered reactive repulsor field configured to bend into a dome.

Bruce took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt.  “You know, we could use this to make a shield.  It’s basically the same thing.”

Tony leaned back in his chair.  “Do you think the Hulk could use a shield?”

“No, but we know someone who does.”

“An energy shield for Cap?  I guess Vibranium is so 2008.  Hell, I could melt it down and use it for the suit.”

Bruce laughed.  “Yeah right.  Steve sleeps with that thing.  But it would be a good secondary option in case he loses it in battle.”

Tony agreed and filed the idea away for later.  Steve could wait.  This was about Bruce this time.

They continued on, running simulations and changing the shape of the (purple) armor plates to fit the 3D models JARVIS created for them. 

“Hypothetically, Hulk could power this thing indefinitely.  There’s a lot of energy potential we’re not tapping into,” Tony said as they looked over the latest redesign. 

Bruce looked at Tony over the rim of his glasses.  “What are you thinking?  You know that you’re going to have to teach Hulk to use any tech you put into this, right?  I don’t know if it’s a good idea to arm him with lasers and smart missiles.”

“What about you, Bruce?  What would _you_ want if you could have anything you can imagine?”

A dreamy, far-away look came over Bruce.  He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest.

And then Rhodey came down the stairs.                      

“That’s it! Tesla! Lovecraft!  You two have been down here for _hours_ without surfacing for air.  I draw the line at cooking dinner for mad scientists.  We’re going out.”

 _Going out._   Tony’s energy perked up at those words.  Going out with Rhodey.  And Bruce.  Life was too fucking perfect to sleep through.

“Have somewhere in mind?” Tony asked.

“Not Moonshadows.”

Tony winced.  He wasn’t exactly allowed there anyway after the Blueberry Mojito Incident.

He looked at Bruce, who was conspicuously engrossed in the results from the high-pressure simulation and not paying any attention to them.

“Let’s go somewhere low-key,” Tony said.  “Not too much noise.  View of the beach.”

“Ok,” Rhodey answered after a moment.  “I know a place.”

****

Rhodey’s place was a beachfront sports bar not too far down the Pacific Coast Highway.  The building was small, but there was a large deck outside with strings of clear white lights crisscrossing overhead.  The sun had long since set by the time they arrived, and the stars blinked down on them from above.  Tony hadn’t realized how much he missed the stars in New York until he was standing against the wooden railing, gazing at the twinkling reflection on the water.

Bruce stood beside him, gulping in huge lungfuls of ocean air.

“Water helps,” Bruce said quietly.

Tony looked askance at him and raised an eyebrow in question.

“The Other Guy…he likes water.  I wake up next to rivers and waterfalls a lot.”

Tony wrapped an arm around Bruce’s shoulders and pulled him up next to his body.  They both continued watching the waves until Rhodey approached with a bucket of Coronas on ice.

The three of them sank into the thickly cushioned patio chairs in front of a rough-hewn table.  A candle in a green glass votive danced merrily between them.  Rhodey took a bottle from the ice and popped the cap off on the edge of the table.  He passed it over to Tony before uncapping one for himself.

“Bruce?”

Bruce shook his head with a smile.

“He doesn’t drink,” Tony said for him.

Rhodey nodded with a look of appreciation on his usually inscrutable features.  “Don’t drink.  Don’t eat meat.  Geez, how do you put up with this guy,” he said, jerking a thumb towards Tony.

Bruce smiled and looked down at the table, but he was rescued by the arrival of the waitress.

Tony ordered the miso salmon, while Rhodey went with the all-American burger and seasoned fries.  And beer.  Keep the beer flowing.

As they ordered, Tony watched Bruce fumble with the menu, turning it over and over.  Looking for the vegetarian section, maybe?  So he reached over and plucked it from Bruce’s hands and handed it back to the waitress.

“Bruce is vegetarian.  What do you recommend?”

The waitress turned towards Bruce.  “Oh, are you vegan?  Ovo-lacto?  Pescatarian?” she asked, not particularly taken aback by the request.

“Welcome to California,” Rhodey muttered as he took a swig from his beer to hide his smile.

“Oh…uh…just vegetarian,” Bruce said.  “Just no meat.”

The waitress nodded and smiled broadly. “Ok, that’s easy then.  How about black bean tacos with roasted summer vegetables?”

Tony could see the tension flee Bruce’s body as he allowed himself to relax into the cushioned chair.  “That sounds perfect,” he said.

“Ok, great.” She glanced at the two open beer bottles and the empty space in front of Bruce.  “Ice tea?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Bruce said.  He relaxed just a little bit more.

After the waitress brought Bruce’s iced tea and left again, Rhodey turned his attention to Tony.

“So, Martini, how’s the Big Apple treating you?”

“No one who lives there calls it the ‘Big Apple.’”

“New York.”

“I know what you mean.  It’s…there.  Look, I didn’t fly across the country to talk about me.”

“Bullshit.”

“How’s the Chair Force treating you?  Did you do your PT test on the stationary bike this year?”

“You have no right to—“

“You do know that Captain Fucking America goes to my gym, right?”

“Your private gym?  In your building?  Really, Tony, do you even go outside?”

Tony upended the last of his beer and let it slide down his throat straight to his stomach.  He grabbed another one out of the bucket and slammed it against the table’s edge.  The cap bent, but didn’t pop off.  Rhodey took it out of his hand and uncapped it, earning a fierce glare from Tony. 

He was a fucking engineer.  He could uncap a Corona seven ways on a Sunday morning.  But he did take the beer and swallowed long and hard.

And, then, he felt a hand settle on his knee under the table, squeezing firmly.   He looked sideways at Bruce, but the physicist showed no outward sign, no awkward looks of sympathy or support or judgment.  He merely sipped his iced tea.

Funny.  Sure, Rhodey’s teasing was good-natured, the type of ribbing one bro gives to another.  But, he felt his face flush hot at Rhodey’s words, and his hackles rose in defense.  And Bruce knew.  He knew.

When did Bruce become his best friend?  When did Rhodey take a back-seat to the scruffy, fluffy rage monster seated next to him?

He downed the rest of his beer in one long swallow.

Luckily for Tony, the food arrived and all three of them were engrossed in eating rather than mouthing off.  Tony polished off two more longnecks along with his salmon and cauliflower puree, and he felt much calmer after his belly was full.  His previous mood swing was just a case of low blood sugar, he told himself.  He wondered if that was how Bruce felt when he was…hungry.

Tony and Rhodey talked about sports for a while, but it was obvious that Bruce was left out because he didn’t follow any teams.  Then, the conversation turned to redesigns for the suits—with Tony scrawling schematics on a damp cocktail napkin—until the mechanics surpasses Rhodey’s extensive MIT education.  So, the conversation turned to Tony because if there was one topic they could all relate to, it was Tony.

“So,” Rhodey said, “the Blueberry Mojito Incident actually started with a bottle of tequila.”

“Why isn’t it called the Tequila Incident?” Bruce asked.

“The moniker was taken,” Tony said with a lopsided grin.  “But that’s a story for another day.”

“Well, it ended with Tony tap dancing on the bar at Moonshadows.”

Bruce looked at Tony with a new appreciation.  “I didn’t know you could tap dance. Where did you learn that?”

Tony took another long swallow of beer.  The bucket had been refreshed with more ice and more bottles, and the world was starting to feel a warmer and more inviting, even if the patio deck was spinning a little bit.

“Movies,” Tony said around the bottle.

“He took dance lessons,” Rhodey ratted him out.  “There was this girl…”

“Ah…” Bruce said, as if he really did understand.  Which, maybe he did.

“Anyway,” Rhodey continued, “it wouldn’t have been nearly so bad if Tony didn’t decide to play soccer with the glasses on the bar.”

“Long story short,” Tony said, “no more Moonshadows.  Which is fine.  Bunch of hipster wankers anyway.”

Rhodey smiled again, hiding it with another sip of beer. 

The deck was really spinning now.  Tony couldn’t remember the last time he felt like this.  Not since…well, not for a very long time.  He tried to think back to his last bender and came up short.  He hadn’t had a real, solid buzz going on since…

…well, since he started sleeping with Bruce.

Fuck.  That shit snuck up on him.

But Bruce looked relaxed, though Tony was well past a six-pack and still going strong.  He didn’t seem to be annoyed, or offended, or fearful of his emotional well-being.  He didn’t judge Tony for guzzling Coronas with his best friend.

Fuck.  Fucking understanding empathetic motherfucking rage monster.

He put the empty beer bottle down.  Their plates had long since been cleared away, and the moon was rising over the roof to add to the ambient lighting of the deck. It was a beautiful night.  Tony let his head loll back against the chair’s square pillow.  The stars were so, so bright, even if they seemed to be moving far too fast in their orbits.

“Hey,” a quiet voice said in his ear.  Rhodey.  Good ol’ Rhodey.  “I called for a ride.  Wanna go home?”

“Yeah,” he slurred.  “Home.”

And then there was Rhodey on his left, slinging his arm over a broad shoulder to guide him out through the now-crowded restaurant and through the front.  Bruce was around somewhere.  Tony could feel his presence, serene and strong like a river carving out stone.

There was a car, waiting out front.  The Rolls.  Which meant—

“Happy!” Tony cried when he saw the driver.

“Nice to see you, Boss.  Glad to see you haven’t changed.”

But…but he had changed…and Bruce…Bruce was in the back seat with him, holding him up by wrapping his arms around Tony and turning sideways in the seat so he could hold Tony against his chest.  That was kind of awesome because Tony was pretty sure he was going to be sick if he tried to lie flat.  But Rhodey rolled down the front window to let in the fresh air, and Tony was very sorry that he probably wasn’t going to remember the ride home.

They got home, and then there was the bed, cool and soft, with the sound of the ocean echoing through his bedroom.  And Rhodey’s hands, undressing him down to his boxers (Bruce didn’t wear boxers, his drunken mind reminded him) and pulling up the down duvet so that he would still be warm after sweating out all the alcohol.

“Rhodey,” Tony mumbled as he felt the hands give him one last pat on the shoulder.

“Yeah, Martini?”

“I’m so fucked…”

“Yeah, you are.  I haven’t seen you shitfaced on this little alcohol since you were fourteen.”

“No…no…I mean…yes…but…Bruce.”

Rhodey was quiet for a long minute, but he felt the mattress sink under another person’s weight.  “What are you playing at with him?”

Tony tried to open his eyes to look Rhodey in the face, but the room titled on its axis.  On every axis.  He threw one leg over the side of the bed to put his foot flat on the floor and try to ground himself and subvert the alcohol spins.  It didn’t work very well.

“’M not playing,” he answered.

Rhodey sighed, heavy and deep, but when he answered, his voiced sounded pleased.  “He’s something else, Tony.  Something else.”

“I know.  Do you—Rhodey—I think—“

“Go to sleep, Martini,” Rhodey said.  “You’re safe at home.  Just go to sleep and we’ll talk about this in the morning, ok?”

“No, we won’t.”

“No, probably not.  Look, you’ve just gotta…gotta follow your heart.  I know you don’t trust it, but really, the best decisions you’ve made have come from your intuition, not your head.  You’ll figure this out, Tony.  Just…just…say goodnight, Tony.”

“Good night, Tony.  Good night, Rhodey.  Good night, Brucie.  Good night, JARVIS.”

And Tony fell into a drunken slumber.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE reading your comments and thoughts about the story, so please leave a comment if you have a moment. And thank you so much to everyone who has left their thoughts and opinions.


	27. The Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce visits Tony's private beach.

The morning sun filtered in through the floor-to-ceiling windows to light the room in shades of rosy purple gray.  Bruce rolled over and wallowed in the contentment of a good night’s sleep, not quite willing to leave the comfort of the silky sheets and down duvet.  He wasn’t used to waking up in this place, but he could sense that he was safe before he opened his eyes.

Slowly, the events from the previous night came back to him: the rhythmic roar of waves and the canopy of electric lights, the savory food that left him feeling warm and full but not heavy, the friendly banter between Tony and his oldest, dearest friend.  And Tony, downing beer after beer seasoned with amused glances from Rhodey and nervous looks at Bruce.

And in the car, while Tony drooled on Bruce’s shoulder in the back seat, Rhodey had turned around and asked, “So, when _is_ the last time Tony’s been drunk?”

Bruce couldn’t answer him.  Rhodey’s eyebrows rose in disbelief and Happy adjusted the rear view mirror so he could see Tony lolling in the back seat.

“Man, I don’t know what you’re doing, but just keep doing it,” Rhodey said.   He turned back around and shook his head.  “I never thought I’d see the day when _I’m_ the bad influence.”

But Bruce didn’t begrudge Tony his night out with his drinking buddy.  If anything, it had been funny to see Tony get sloppy drunk off cheap beer.  He was the shiny, bubbly type of drunk last night.  He was nothing like his father.

The bed suddenly felt cold and empty.  Bruce rose and stretched in the yellowing beams of sunlight.

“JARVIS, is Tony awake?”

“No, Doctor Banner.  Based on an analysis of his sleep patterns and nighttime disturbances, I predict it will be another 4.5 hours before Mr. Stark rises.”

Bruce chuckled.  Tony was probably in and out of the bathroom a dozen times last night and hung over, not to mention how many hours of sleep he had to catch up on.

So Bruce padded downstairs to the kitchen to get a bottle of cold water and down the hall to Tony’s room.  He opened the door as quietly as he could—no electronic locks on this one, surprisingly—to see Tony curled up tight on his left side, the sheets twisted around his hips.  The bedroom was darker and warmer than the rest of the house, and it smelled distantly of stale sweat.  Bruce left the water on the bedside table and retreated back to the living room.

Rhodey was probably still asleep, too, since he had matched Tony drink for drink.   But it seemed the colonel was not nearly out of practice as Tony since he had the coordination to put the billionaire playboy to bed.  Bruce had offered, but Rhodey had warned him that Tony got a bit “handsy” and “mouthy” when he was that drunk and insisted on doing the job himself.

Rhodey missed Tony.  Bruce could see that, so he let Rhodey undress Tony and tuck him in.  That, and he didn’t know quite how to explain that he didn’t mind if Tony was a bit handsy, or mouthy, or preferably both at the same time.

Tony could tell him, when he was ready.  Rhodey was _his_ friend, after all.

The living room was quiet except for the steady trickle of the waterfall.  Bruce spent a long moment staring out the picture window (was it still a window when it was technically the _entire wall?_ ) out onto the ocean.  After a while, he made himself a cup of tea and then went out onto the deck.  He forwent the cushioned deck chairs to sink down on the sun-warmed wood to meditate.

Meditation didn’t come easy to Bruce.  It never had.  Shutting off the voices in his head—because there were multiple—took a monumental amount of focus and attention, which he often did not have to spare.   And, since New York, he had not practiced nearly as often as he should.

He straightened his spine, stacking each vertebra on top of the one below so he could feel his back supported from the wooden deck all the way up through the base of his skull.  His head fell forward onto his chest a bit as he inhaled and drew his shoulders back to open up his chest.  The taste of the ocean filled his nose all the way down his throat into his lungs as he breathed.  It only took a moment before his breathing matched the cadence of the waves crashing far on the cliffs below.  He allowed the sound to fill him from the base of his belly to the hollows of his ears, drowning out his scattered thoughts.

Maybe it was the proximity to water—water always soothed the Other Guy—but Bruce was surprised with how easy it was to keep himself from thinking.  Normally, he would be trying to balance chemistry equations, or plan his next meal, or…

No, he thought.  Just _In._ And _Out._

That’s better.  Now he wasn’t thinking about…

_In.  Out._

Thinking about Tony’s eyelashes, lying thick on bruised cheekbones.  Of a firm hand stroking his back…

_In.  Out.  In.  Out._

Thinking about unyielding leather and soft lips on his collarbone.

This wasn’t working.  He started counting his breaths silently on the exhale, like a novice.

_One.  Two.  Three. Tony.  Tony.  Tony._

Actually, that kind of worked.  So he kept it up, and Tony’s name became his mantra.

****

Bruce wasn’t quite sure how long he was on the deck, but when he stepped back inside, Rhodey was scrambling eggs at the stove. 

“Hey, Bruce, have you eaten yet?” Rhodey asked.

“No,” Bruce said and Rhodey broke a few more eggs into the pan.

“Tony’s going to be passed out for a while, so I was thinking about going down to the beach,” Rhodey said.  He rummaged in the fridge and came up with a bundle of spinach and took a loaf of bread out of the breadbox on the counter.  He popped four slices into the toaster.  “Don’t burn it this time,” he told the toaster, and to Bruce’s surprise, the toaster beeped and the bread disappeared into the gadget.  Rhode washed the spinach in the kitchen sink and threw it in with the eggs.  “It’s about a mile down the cliff.  Wanna go?”

Bruce looked over his shoulder towards Tony’s bedroom.   Rhodey must have noticed because he said, “JARVIS will tell Tony where we’ve gone, and he’ll probably take the car down so we don’t have to hike back up the cliff.  The walk down is nice—back up is kind of a pain if you’ve been surfing all day.  Do you surf?”

Bruce shook his head.

“Ah, well, it’s a nice beach for hanging out.  Sit down, man.  Food’s ready.”

Bruce obediently took a seat at the kitchen island and Rhodey put a plate piled with eggs and spinach in front of him.  The toaster beeped again and Rhodey quickly grabbed a plate and held it out just in time to catch the golden-brown toast that the toaster spit out at him.  He turned a slice over in his hand and nodded in approval.  “Not bad, little dude,” he said and got another beep in reply.

So, full of scrambled eggs and toast, they hiked down the cliff in the morning sun.  As they walked, they talked about the places they’ve been and places they still wanted to go.  Rhodey wanted to go on a safari in Africa; Bruce wanted to see Alaska one day.

Nestled between the cliffs—far out of sight of prying paparazzi—the dirt path opened up onto a stretch of soft sand.  The waves crashed into huge rocks on either side, but there was enough open space for a small surf spot, though Bruce thought it would take some skill to not be tossed onto the rocks like a piece of unfortunate kelp.  A little bamboo beach house was at the end of the path, far enough up the beach to be safe from the tide.  It was a beautiful little house, with a cabana bar (of course), an outdoor shower, and a rack full of surfboards on the covered porch.  A bronze fire pit was surrounded by an assortment of driftwood furniture, and Bruce could imagine that it was a popular place for parties.

Rhodey pressed his thumb to the keypad on the door and it clicked open for him.  He motioned Bruce inside.  Though small, the pale blue walls and white wicker furniture made the little house feel airy and light. 

“There are always some extra swim trunks in here,” Rhodey said.  He rummaged through the drawers in the bedroom and came up with a pair for himself and Bruce.

They changed and left their clothes on the blue-and-white striped bed, and Rhodey found them some towels.

Outside, the sun-warmed sand massaged Bruce’s bare feet as he walked along the beach.  Rhodey grabbed a board off the rack and headed out to sea.  He offered to teach Bruce to surf, but Bruce knew he was there to relax and let off steam, and not to babysit him, so he declined.  All he wanted to do was lie in the sand and listen to the water, anyway.

“Tony will surf with you when he wakes up,” Bruce said dismissively. 

He regretted his words when he saw a look of sadness pass over Rhodey’s face.  “No, he doesn’t surf…anymore.  We used to, but since Afghanistan, I haven’t been able to get him into water over his head.  He used to be good, too…”

“Oh,” was the only thing Bruce could think to say.

 So Bruce spend the morning dozing in the sand and watching Rhodey ride the waves until he heard the crunch of car tires on the sandy path.  Just as Rhodey predicted, Tony arrived in the Audi and drove it over the sand to park near the beach house.  He tumbled out of the car and squinted up at the too-bright sun over the rim of his dark sunglasses.  Still hung over, Bruce guessed.  But, Tony had apparently gotten the memo that it was beach day because he was wearing a light cotton shirt over bright red board shorts and his bare feet sank into the sand as he walked over to Bruce’s towel.  His body threw a long shadow over Bruce, so he rolled over to look up into Tony’s face.

“Move over,” Tony said before he lowered himself down with a groan. 

Tony threw an arm over his eyes to block out the sun and groaned again.  “Ugh…I haven’t felt like this since boarding school.”

Bruce chuckled a little.  “Out of practice, or getting old?”

“Both,” Tony admitted.  He turned on his side and propped his head up on one folded arm.  “I’m sorry,” Tony said.

Bruce was confused and he let it show on his face.  “For what?”

“I don’t know.  When I feel like this, it usually means I owe someone an apology.  So what did I do?”

“Nothing,” Bruce said.

“You’re not mad?”

“Not at you,” Bruce said.  He gave Tony a sly smile.  “You’ll know when I’m mad at you.”

And Tony’s relief was obvious when he smiled back.   Bruce didn’t know that alluding to the Other Guy could make _anyone_ feel relieved.

“Rhodey’s leaving tonight,” Tony changed the subject.  “JARVIS is running some upgrades on the armor, but he’ll be done before dinner.  Is there anything you want to do here after he leaves?”

They still had a day before they had to be in Palm Springs, but Bruce didn’t ever want to leave.  It was so peaceful here, so far away from the rest of the world, unlike the Tower, which seemed to be smack in the middle of _everything_.

“Just relax,” he answered.  He pushed himself up on all fours and stretched like a cat.  “Do some yoga, watch the waves, eat avocados…what else do you do in California?”

“Anything you want.”

Bruce licked his lips.  He was thinking of this all morning, but he wasn’t sure how Tony would react.  “I’ve always wanted to…uh…” he nodded towards the water, “have sex on the beach?”

Tony’s eyebrows rose and he looked at him over the rim of his sunglasses.  “That can be arranged.”

“In the water?”

Tony sucked in a breath.  He turned to look out at the sparkling waves and the stretch of pale sand between them and the vast ocean.  “Yeah…yeah, we can do that.” 

He peeled off his shirt, exposing the arc reactor to the midday sun.  Bruce knew how self-conscious he was about baring his chest to anyone, as if he was putting his very heart on display to see.  He was pale from being indoors for so long, and without his customary coat of grease and dirt, the scars radiating out from the center of his chest were lividly pink and red.  Bruce tried very hard not to stare, but he couldn’t help his morbid curiosity.

“But,” Tony continued, “only if I get to do something that I’ve always wanted to do, too.”

Bruce’s crooked smile was wary.  “Is it legal?”

“Uh…most places?  Here, yeah, it’s legal.”

Bruce was about to give his assent—again, morbid curiosity—but he was interrupted by Tony’s hand wrapping around the back of his head, bringing him forward as he pressed his lips against Bruce.  There was a rushing sound in his ears that had nothing to do with the ocean waves, and Bruce knew his eyes were wide with surprise before he managed to remember proper kissing etiquette and shut his eyes and titled his head a little to give Tony more room.  Tony must have taken that as permission because he began to kiss him in earnest.  There was no childish eagerness, no sloppy clicking of teeth, no, Tony was well-practiced and he licked softly at Bruce’s lips, urging them open before sliding his tongue inside, just tasting, luring Bruce out of his shell.  He nipped gently at his lower lip and then came back for more, slow and sure and as inevitable as the turning of the tides.

And Bruce melted against him, let him hold him close and rub at the base of his neck.  His hand slid between them to press on the arc reactor, not pushing away, just feeling the hard ridge where flesh met metal.  It was hot, and sweat dripped down between them, but it was ok, everything was ok, and in that moment, he believed that everything would always be ok so long as Tony was around to kiss him just like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I can't thank you enough for your support and your comments and your help. So, here's a question I've been wrestling with: should I include the other characters' POVs as well as Tony and Bruce? So far, I've been looking at this as their story, but is that something you'd like to see? Drop me a note and let me know your thoughts.


	28. Interlude: Rhodey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey realizes that his role in Tony's life has changed.

Rhodey paddled the surfboard out past the breakers where he could push himself up and sit straddling it, watching the shore so far away.  He saw the Audi pull up onto the sand and Tony stumble out and cross the sand to collapse next to Banner—no, Bruce, he reminded himself.  _Banner_ was a scientist, a disaster, a name on a file.  _Bruce_ was Tony’s friend.

Maybe it was the distance, or maybe it was the way Tony moved, all loose limbs and stumbling awkwardness in the sand, but Rhodey saw the kid he first met in MIT.  Fourteen, lost in the world, all attitude and no experience.  The guy had just left his _nanny_ to come to college, for God’s sake. 

So was it any wonder when Rhodey took over the position?

But, really, Tony had clung to him like a lifeline, following him with those lost-puppy eyes which were so at odds with the devil-may-care attitude everyone else saw.

How could they all be so blind?

He thought of all the times he had begged, threatened, pleaded, fought for Tony to put down the booze.  All in vain.  And then _this guy_ comes along and the Tony that Rhodey always believed in, the one that only he could see through the masks and layers of armor, was suddenly in front of him.  _His_ Tony. 

But…he hadn’t really believed in Tony.  He hadn’t been there when he was truly needed.  He dismissed Tony as crazy when he first tried to tell him about Iron Man—dismissed it as PTSD or just Stark’s own private brand of insane.  Well, he had been right, but so very wrong at the same time.  And then, when Tony needed him the most, when he was at his lowest, he had stolen the only thing that kept him whole.

And Tony had let him.  There was no other reason why he had flown War Machine right out of his basement that night, leaving Tony drunk and broken in the smoking ruins of his house—the house that Rhodey still had the keys to.

And then Rhodey watched as Tony bent down, and he knew enough of the guy to recognize a kiss when he saw it.

Suddenly, Rhodey felt like an outsider, looking in through a window at his best friend’s soul.  And he wanted back in.

So Rhodey paddled in, taking his time because, really, that Bruce guy kind of deserved a private moment for everything he’s done.  He deserved a damn medal.

And by the time he was dragging the board back up the sand, the two men were lying side-by-side on the skinny beach towel, looking up at the cloudless blue skies.  Tony had his shirt off, but the light of the arc reactor was washed out by the Malibu sunshine.

He had betrayed that, too.  He had been the one to tell Stane.  He thought he was doing the right thing.

“Hey, Platypus, how’s the waves?” Tony said.

Rhodey sat down on the sandy board.  “Pretty good.  Not as good as the view.”

Tony’s smile was roguish, but Bruce blushed.

“Damn right,” Tony said.

“Why don’t you grab a board and come out?  It’s pretty calm out there.”

Tony grimaced and Rhodey immediately regretted putting him on the spot.  “Next time. Or never. Let’s go with never.”

And then Bruce poked him in the chest, right below the reactor.  “We’ll get you some floaties and start in the kiddie pool.” 

Really?  Teasing Tony about…well, something you just didn’t tease Tony about?  Tony was going to flay this guy alive.

But Tony grinned. “No fair.  There’s two of you now.”

“You’re twice the work, but you’re worth it,” Bruce said.  “Most of the time.”

Bruce sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees.  He rested his head on his folded arms and stared long and hard out at the water.  There was an aura about him, a quiet, hard-earned strength that radiated outward and affected everyone in his vicinity.  Rhodey felt like he was staring into an endless pool and seeing himself reflected back, distorted and wavering in a way that made him question what he saw.

Was that how Tony felt?  Well, no wonder then.

“I’m hungry,” Tony announced suddenly.  “I demand sustenance.  Is there anything in the cabana?”

“Not unless you brought something from the house.  Did you eat anything when you woke up?”

Tony stared blankly.  Of course not.

Bruce got up and stretched and gave Tony a hand up.  Tony put his shirt back on and the day seemed a little bit dimmer as clouds passed over the sun.

“Do you mind if I stay down here for a while?” Bruce said. “I want to do some yoga, and it’s so peaceful here.”

“Yeah, sure.  Pick you up?”

Bruce shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked towards the steep path up the cliff.  “No, I’ll be fine.”

Rhodey had made that hike many times, though he was usually drunk enough that stumbling up the cliff side felt like competing on Ninja Warrior.

“Ok, see you at the house,” Tony said. He took his sunglasses off and slid them onto Bruce’s nose, lingering a bit when he tucked them behind Bruce’s ears.

Rhodey retrieved his clothes from the house, but he didn’t bother changing before getting into the car.  DUM-E would be happy to vacuum the car out when they got back to the garage—except, wait, DUM-E was in New York.  Because Tony lived there now.  With Bruce.

The thought was not as jarring as Rhodey expected.

“You drive,” Tony said, standing at the passage door.

Rhodey moved over and took the keys.  Tony slid into the car and leaned his head against the tinted window.

“Still hung over?” Rhodey asked as he pulled the car around and started up the path.

“Nah.  Too much sun,” Tony replied.

“You’ve been inside too long,” Rhodey said. Inside the workshop, inside the Tower, inside the suit.  Tony didn’t reply.

They continued up the cliff in silence, but about half way up, Rhodey couldn’t contain the question burning the back of his throat anymore.  “Do you love him?”

“We’re not having this conversation.”

“Yeah we are.  We totally are. Right now.”

“If we _were_ having this conversation, which we totally aren’t, I would never admit that to you.”  Rhodey glanced over to see Tony, eyes closed, cheek pressed against the window.

“That bad, huh?”

“He’s my best—my best lab partner,” Tony said, catching himself.  But Rhodey heard it.  _Best friend._

“It’s ok, Martini.  I haven’t been the best friend to you.”

“You’re the best friend a guy could ask for,” Tony said.  “I could never replace you.  I don’t want to talk about this, not right now.”

Rhodey swung the car around the house and down the ramp into the garage.  The cool, dark depths of the cliff surrounded them like a fortress.  It felt safer here, out of the sunlight.

“Can we just check on the armor and forget about this?” Tony said.  He opened the door and got out before Rhodey could reply.

Rhodey got out and looked over the roof of the car to see Tony retreating towards the banks of computers near the big steel toolboxes on the other end of the garage.

“Hey, Tony,” Rhodey said.  Tony stopped and turned around.  “I’m not going to mess this up.  Not like the other times.”

“What other times?”

“The arc reactor.  The armor.  I’m not going to take him away from you.”

Tony’s entire posture changed.  His shoulders relaxed and his fists unclenched.  The line of muscles along his jaw relaxed.  He looked like the kid Rhodey once knew, naïve and unguarded, and so very used to being hurt.

“ _You’re_ my best friend, Rhodey.  Always.  Bruce—he’s—he’s something else.”

“Yeah, Tony, I think I get that.  He really is something else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to get them to talk, but guys are just such...guys about talking about feelings. So, what do you think? Does it work? Not so much?


	29. The Turn of the Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Bruce and the sea

Time meant little to Tony when he was in Malibu.  In New York, there was so much to mark the passage of time: the traffic buzzing far beneath the high-rise windows, the cycle of too-bright daylight and neon night, the shift of the seasons.  But none of that existed here on the cliff’s edge of Tony’s private world.  Peace and quiet…Tony hadn’t realized how he had isolated himself in his kingdom by the sea.  He also forgot how much craved it. 

When he thought back to his life before New York, before the Avengers and alien wars, his memories were tinged with a lonely ache.  It was a far-off pain, nothing but a memory of an open wound, but it reminded him why he left in the first place to live in the hustle and bustle of the World’s Greatest City.

But, this time was different.  The soft sound of Bruce’s bare footsteps filled the empty rooms; the aroma of garlic and olive oil replaced the sharp burn of fine scotch; the very air felt cool with tranquility instead of cold with indifference.  And when Rhodey left this time, he didn’t feel like locking himself away in the depths of the garage and blaring heavy metal to drown out his thoughts.

He didn’t just go back to his Malibu house; he finally returned home.  For the first time, he would be truly sorry to leave.

On their last day in Malibu, they took Pepper and Happy out to brunch at a sprawling ranch in the Malibu hills.  Pepper and Happy drank mimosas until they were silly, while Tony and Bruce drank orange juice out of crystal champagne flutes.  Tony drove them all home, much to Happy’s chagrin, though he was too buzzed to put up much resistance.

And then he and Bruce were alone again, and Bruce took him by the hand and led him back down to the beach.

“Isn’t there a two-hour rule about swimming after eating?” Tony complained.

“We’re not going swimming,” Bruce said evenly.  He stopped in the middle of the path.  The sun was warm enough that sweat glistened on his neck, and Tony wanted to lean in and lick it off.

“Well, strenuous activity, then.”

Bruce just kept going, leaving Tony to decide if he wanted to follow or not.  He did.  He most definitely did. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Bruce said. 

Well, no shit.  No one could make Tony Stark do _anything_ he didn’t want to do.  He made a small, non-committal noise, but followed anyway.

Once they reached the end of the path, Bruce kicked off his shoes and bypassed the beach house to head down to the wet sand on the edge of the water.  He stood there for a long moment, letting the waves lap against his bare toes and soak the bottoms of his jeans.  Without looking back at Tony, he peeled off his shirt and stared out on the horizon.  Tony paused, far out of reach of the waves.  He was nervous and hot and the sweat dripping down his back felt cold.

Bruce turned.  The sun was still high in the sky, but the light highlighted the silver in his wind-tousled curls.  He smiled, easy and open and as carefree as Tony had ever seen him.

“Can we just stay here forever?” Bruce asked.

Tony shrugged.  “Actually, yeah.  We can.”

But Bruce shook his head, tossing his hair even more.  They both knew it wasn’t true.  The same circumstances that brought them together would pull them away from here eventually.  They could pretend to hide away from the world, but the world would find them again.

Bruce turned away from the sand and trudged up to the beach house.  The sand was hot under his bare feet, and he moved quickly to get to the shaded porch.  He didn’t bother going inside; instead, he stripped off his jeans and his shirt and threw them over a porch chair.  Though he was a modest person, waking up naked dozens of times had obviously cured Bruce of any embarrassment of being nude.  It just seemed…natural…for him to be stripped bare in broad daylight. 

Tony drank in the sight before him.  A thatch of dark hair curled over Bruce’s chest and dusted his arms and stomach, ending in a thicker patch over his groin.  He was a pretty average guy, but the way he carried himself when he was naked—without any sense of ego or showing off, completely unself-conscious—that made him one of the most beautiful men Tony had ever seen.

So Tony peeled off his shirt and left it on the chair next to Bruce’s.  The pants went next, but he paused at his boxers.

Bruce smiled at him.  The boxers went, too.

And then they were running across the hot sand down to the water’s edge.  The water was cold, the summer sun doing little to heat the vast expanse of the Pacific.  Tony shook a little, but it was easy to excuse as the ocean’s chill.

Once he was thigh-deep in the water, Bruce kneeled in the soft sand.  The incoming waves came barely washed his shoulders.  He looked up at Tony.

“Tell me what to do,” Bruce said.

Tony’s mouth went dry.  The water was cold, but not cold enough to quench the fire that kindled in the base of his belly.  He didn’t know what exactly Bruce wanted to do.  They didn’t even have lube that would stand up to the salt water enough to be useful.  But there were other things they could do, so Tony lowered himself to his knees in the water.

“Kiss me,” he demanded.

And Bruce did.

Bruce kissed the same way he did everything else—cautiously, considerately, curiously. But Tony was sure that if he gave him a moment, then—ah, there it was, a sudden break in the invisible boundary between them and then Bruce was delving deeper.  Sometimes, it just took a moment to convince Bruce that everything was ok, that yes, he was welcome and oh so wanted.  Then, the real Bruce came to the forefront and he hummed against Tony’s lips and Tony smiled against his so that he could feel it instead of seeing it.  Tony wrapped one arm around Bruce’s waist, holding tight enough that he could feel his ribcage expand and contract as he breathed, and cupped the base of his skull with the other.

Bruce sighed and let himself be held, arms still loose by his side, floating on the surface of the water.  The water was colder, now, but warmer at the same time where their bodies pressed together.  The sand swirled around and over their legs when the waves came in, and again when the waves went out, and the force of the waves rocked them back and forth.

And then, suddenly, the water roared in his ears as a large swell washed over their shoulders, and his nose was full of brine.  His mouth broke from Bruce’s with a gasp, but sea water filled his mouth instead of air.  But then one strong arm wrapped around his back and another held his head, and he was lifted to his feet, effortlessly weightless in the water.  Bruce held Tony against his broad chest as he spluttered and struggled to plant his feet in the sand.  They were still in the shallows, and when the wave flowed back into the ocean, the water barely reached his waist.

“I have you.  I have you,” Bruce’s voice said right into his ear, but it was a moment before Tony could decipher the words.

“Fuck,” Bruce said quietly, under his breath.  “Tide’s coming in.  Should’ve checked that before we came out here.”

Tony gulped in air, though he didn’t lose more than a lungful, and spat seawater over Bruce’s shoulder.

“I…I can’t do this…” he gasped.  His throat burned with the taste of salt and metal, and it was so very close to blood.

 “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

Bruce kept an arm around him and held most of his weight until Tony felt like he had his feet under him again.  But he still kept a hand planted firmly in the middle of his back until Tony managed to collapse onto a deck chair.  Bruce wrapped a towel around his shoulders and sat on the armrest, rubbing his back through the rough terry cloth of the towel.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said when the silence became too unbearable.

“Nothing you have to be sorry for,” Tony said. He tried to smile, but it was so pathetic and watery that he gave up on the idea.  He buried his head against Bruce’s side.

“Rhodey told me to take care of you,” Bruce mused aloud.  “I’m not doing such a great job so far.”

Tony shook his head.  He didn’t know if it was meant as an affirmation or a denial, but Bruce kept rubbing his back, so it whatever the answer was, it was the right one.

The lingering salt in his eyes burned and threatened to make them water, so he closed them and sighed and leaned into Bruce’s touch.  But, then he was shifted sideways because Bruce slid down to straddle his lap, facing him.  They were both still naked, and Tony could feel Bruce’s half-hard cock resting against his.  The rush of adrenaline from his scare left him feeling shaky and not sexy at all, but it was comforting to feel Bruce’s sex nestled against his own. 

And then Bruce kissed him again.  He put his hands on either side of Tony’s face to hold him still and kissed the mingled tears and seawater that tracked down his face. He licked the salt from his lips and the outline of his goatee.  His tongued tickled its way between his lips, and Tony could taste the ocean in Bruce’s mouth.

Slow, steady like the sinking of the sun beneath the waves, Bruce worked his way down.  He nipped at Tony’s throat and pressed his lips against the pulse point, whispering reassurances against his skin until he could feel his heart slow.  He moved down and lapped at the hollows of his collarbone, sucked at one nipple and swirled his tongue around the other.  The arc reactor was left untouched, and Tony was grateful because he wasn’t quite sure he was ready to deal with that right now.

But then Bruce was moving down, slithering off Tony’s lap as he pressed soft, chaste kisses in a straight line down his belly.  Tony spread his knees so that Bruce had room to kneel between them, and Bruce settled back on his heels and rested his head on the inside of Tony’s thigh.  Tony could feel Bruce’s hot breath on his cock, and it took a little interest in the proximity of that warm, wet, kiss-swollen mouth.

“Can I?” Bruce asked.  “Or is it not a good time?”

A good time?  Well, Tony was usually up for a good time, but Bruce made it sound more like a telemarketing call than an offer to suck him off.  Then again, the polite question—the fact that he cared enough to know—was enough for him to banish the last of the sick fear of drowning and focus on another sensation instead.

Tony rested his hand in Bruce’s hair, tightened briefly in the curls left damp and stiff with brine so that he could lift Bruce’s head a little and look him in the eyes, then guided him back down onto his cock.

Bruce wrapped one hand around the base—he had learned his lesson about taking the whole thing at once—and licked under the head with a flat tongue.  He pressed the tip of his tongue into his slit and tasted him inside and out.  Tony groaned, and his cock began to fill and grow in Bruce’s hand, forcing him to adjust his grip.  He let go of Bruce’s hair, but kept his hand resting lightly on his head, not guiding, but feeling the movement.  He let his head fall back against the chair.

Soft lips encircled the tip of his cock and Bruce’s clever tongue pressed hard against the underside as he sucked away the last traces of the sea.  He backed off a little so he could use his hand to spread the saliva down, and his hand moved in short strokes up and down the base.

Tony was hard now, and his world narrowed down the tight, almost too-rough grasp and the hot, wet suction on his dick.  He groaned and Bruce hummed a positive note in response, sending tiny waves of pleasure up Tony’s spine.  His cock grew harder as Bruce moved his hand down and took him a little deeper.

Despite the lack of blood to his brain, Tony felt like he was coming back to himself.  He wanted desperately to buck up into Bruce’s mouth, but he didn’t want to gag the poor guy like he did the last time.  But Bruce was taking him as well as he could, so Tony pressed just tiny bit on the back of his head.  Bruce hummed again, pleased, and took him another fraction of an inch, and then Tony knew that he was back in control again.

He tightened his hand in Bruce’s hair again, earning a gasp around his cock, but Bruce didn’t fight or let go.  So he held him still, not pulling or pushing, just testing his control, and Bruce paused, lips wrapped around him, relaxed and waiting for Tony’s next command.  Tony pulled him closer, a little further down on his cock, and rocked his hips forward.  Bruce’s hand, still wrapped around the base, kept him from choking him too much, so he drew back and did it again.  And again.  And then Tony thrust _harder_ —though not deeper—and elicited a shocked noise from the back of Bruce’s throat that travelled up the length of his cock and straight to his balls.  He did it a few more times to see if he could get Bruce to make that noise again, and he was pleased when he found he could.  He began fucking Bruce’s mouth in earnest, forcing more sounds from him, and Bruce had to put his free hand on the chair beside Tony’s hip to brace himself.

Bruce was so damn beautiful, lips stretched obscenely tight around his shaft, head bobbing back and forth with the force of Tony’s thrusts.  Tony moaned aloud as he felt his orgasm building, rising, shifting inside him, threating to break with the force of a tidal wave.

“Bruce…I’m gonna—“ and Tony pushed him away, but not soon enough to avoid a splash of cum on his cheek and his chest, though Tony managed to shoot the rest onto the sand.

Tony panted for a second, but this time there was no panic to accompany the loss of breath.  Bruce sat back on his heels, watching him with cool concern.

“Come here,” Tony huffed.  He took the towel from around his shoulders and held Bruce’s head in his lap as he wiped him clean.  “You didn’t need to do that, you know.”

“I wanted to,” Bruce said.  “I want to take care of you, Tony.  Are you ok?  Do you feel better?”

Tony petted Bruce’s head in time to the sound of the distant waves.  “Yeah, I’m fine, Brucie.  I think, with you here, I’m gonna be just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the Tony and Bruce show! Thanks so much for your support! I really appreciate the feedback and the incredibly thoughtful comments that you leave. It really helps me write when I know that there are people out there wanting more. And the boys really do have a story to tell under all the sap and sex and feels. :)


	30. Chapter 29: It’s Not Paranoia (If They’re Really After You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Bruce drive to Palm Springs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the plot!
> 
> On a side note, I posted a ficlet "Stash" that ties into this story, but I didn't know how to fit it in because the boys are a little out of character. It takes place before they leave Malibu for Palm Springs. So check that out and see if you like it! If you don't like it, then just forget it ever happened and we won't talk about it again, ok? ;)

Tony and Bruce left for Palm Springs the next morning.  Tony sent Heartbreaker ahead in its high-security crate, to be stored at a secure hanger at the Palm Springs International Airport until they returned home.  It made Bruce nervous that Tony didn’t have the heavy artillery suit closer, but Tony assured him that he could use his power bracelets to summon it in an instant, and that it could fly even faster without him inside it.  It could be wherever they were in minutes, he promised.  And, the Mark V would be safely stowed in the Audi’s trunk in case there was a true emergency on the road.

They left in the morning to try to avoid both rush hour traffic through the city and driving through the desert in the heat of the day.  As soon as they merged onto the freeway, Tony cranked the stereo up loud.  Despite the blaring rock music, the warmth of the sun and the steady rhythm of the road lulled Bruce into a doze.

Halfway between sleeping and waking, Bruce dreamed of the sea.  He was on a raft, floating, and Tony was there, too.  So was Steve, at first, but he faded and melted away, as dream-people tend to do.  Then it was just him and Tony, and Tony was ok with being in the ocean so long as they had the raft.  But, then the waves became choppy, and their little raft was tossed around.  Tony got sick and threw up over the side, and Bruce was concerned, but for some reason he couldn’t talk to comfort Tony.  So, he just rubbed his back and held his hand over Tony’s chest to keep him from toppling over the edge, which seemed to be enough.  The hand on Tony’s chest felt nothing but skin and muscle and bone beneath it, and Bruce panicked when he realized the arc reactor was gone.  He tried to ask Tony where it went, but anything he tried to say was confused and jumbled, and Tony just didn’t understand why he was pointing at his chest and gesturing wildly.  He didn’t have time to worry about it for long because their raft crashed onto a jagged rock, ripping and deflating and filling with water.  Tony clung to the rock, and Bruce treaded water in the dark, rough sea.  He could swim.  He was just fine.  But Tony was trying to pull him up onto the rock, too, and just falling and sinking into the water every time he tried.  And then, the rocks shifted and stood up and transformed into the Other Guy, standing in the water like a small island, completely unconcerned with the water churning around his waist.  He saw Tony struggling and reached down and plucked him out of the water, holding him up where he was safe.  Bruce suddenly realized how very tired he was, and he was grateful when he saw that Tony didn’t need his help anymore, and he could just relax and let himself sink down, down, down under the waves.

Bruce woke as the car decelerated. 

“Oh, are we there?” Bruce asked, voice rough with sleep.  He could remember bits and pieces of his dream, but not enough to make much sense, so he dismissed it.

Tony turned down the AC/DC blaring from the stereo. “Not quite,” he said.  “Border Patrol check, so hide the weed or smoke it now.”

Bruce huffed a short laugh.  He rubbed his eyes and looked out the window at an expanse of low desert, all brown dirt and low manzanita, desert oak, and scrub brush.  There was a long line of cars in front of them, mostly nondescript family cars, but there were a few semis and motorhomes hauling trailers loaded with ATV’s and dirt bikes.  He leaned his head on the window and prepared for a wait.

As they inched up in the line, they passed olive-drab Hum-Vees with dark windows and several larger trucks with empty flat-bed trailers.  Bruce was surprised to see military vehicles and not the green and white markings of the Border Patrol.  He had spent enough time avoiding them as he crossed in and out of Mexico and Canada to know what type of vehicles they usually drove.  Something about the trucks made the hackles on the back of his neck rise.

“Tony, is there usually a checkpoint here?”

“Uh…yeah…well, it’s usually a few miles up, and they rarely open the one on this side of the freeway. But it’s been a few years since I last drove this way.”

They passed another Hum-Vee, and this time there was a soldier leaning against the driver’s door.  He wore digitalized desert BDU’s, but Bruce could see empty Velcro strips where his name and unit patch should be.  He wore a cap instead of a beret, and he carried an M4 slung over his shoulder.

This was not a Border Patrol checkpoint.

“Tony, turn around,” Bruce said.  He tried to keep the note of panic from his voice, but it didn’t quite work because Tony’s head snapped around to look at him.

“What?”

“There’s something wrong, Tony.  They’re looking for something.  We’ve got to turn around.”

Tony smiled that billionaire smile.  “Yeah, they’re looking for drugs and illegal gardeners and all sorts of shit.  Nothing we have to worry about.  Wait…I was joking about the weed.  You don’t actually have any on you, do you?”

“No, I don’t.  But something’s not right.  These guys are military, and they carried something _big_ here.  Did you see the size of the trucks?  Please, turn around!”  Bruce’s voice rose in pitch and octave as he pleaded, and he could feel his heart rate start to rocket out of control.  “I just _know_ that something is wrong!”

Now Tony was concerned.  He whipped off his sunglasses so he could look Bruce in the eyes.  “I _can’t,_ Bruce.  There’s a mile of cars behind us, and if I drive off the road that’s going to be _so much more_ suspicious.  They’ll chase us first and ask questions later.”

Tony grabbed Bruce’s hand, forcing him to stop digging his fingers into the soft leather side of the seat. 

“They’re going to recognize me, Bruce.  The car’s license plate has my _name_ on it.  We’re not going to be stopped.  There’s no reason for them to stop us.  And if they do, all I have to do is call Rhodey and he’ll chew their collective ass to pieces.  For fuck’s sake, I have the President’s number in my phone.”

Bruce panted and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get his body back under control.

“The Mark V is in the trunk,” Tony continued.  “Sure it’s the econo version, but there’s no way Iron Man is going to let GI Fucking Joe get the better of us.  But, Brucie, you need to calm down or else we’re going to have a much bigger problem on our hands.”

Bruce nodded and forced himself to breathe in through his nose.  Tony tightened the grip on his hand as they passed another soldier, pacing up and down the line of cars with his machine gun at ready.  He had a hard look about him, and he had a red bandana tied around his neck, showing through his unbuttoned collar.  Like the previous soldier, there was bare Velcro where his name and unit patch should be.  Bruce started to shake.

“Uh, Buddy,” Tony’s voice sounded so far away, “I think this might be a really good time for you to teach me those techniques for shutting down a panic attack.”

“Tony…”

“No, really. Tell me what you do.  Talk me through it.”

Bruce took a deep breath. “A lot of it is grounding,” he managed the pant out.  “Physical sensation to override the false messages of danger.”

“Like this?” Tony said, sticking his hand between Bruce’s back and the leather seat and rubbing firmly up and down.

“Yeah,” Bruce said weakly.  “And…uh…breathing to activate the parasympathetic nervous system.”

“How do you do that?”

“Through your nose, not through your mouth.”

“Ok, that sounds easy enough.”  Tony made a big show of shutting his mouth and taking deep breaths along with Bruce.

They were almost to the front of the line.  Bruce could see five more soldiers, two on the driver’s side and three on the passenger side, inspecting each car as they approached a line of spike strips.  More flatbeds, jeeps, and Hummers were scattered around, ready to give chase.  The soldiers had their sleeves rolled up against the heat, and most of them had intricate black tattoos covering their forearms.  All of their uniforms were devoid of patches.

“Ok, Bruce, just hold it together for another few minutes and then you can freak out all you like.” 

Tony’s hand dropped away from his back just before the soldiers’ attention focused on them, but he traced down his arm and kept tight hold of his hand.  Bruce concentrated on keeping his gaze straight ahead, which he knew wasn’t entirely normal, but it was as much normality as he could muster right now.  Tony flicked off the stereo with his other hand and rolled down his window.

The soldier waving the cars through took a deliberate look at the license plate before leaning in towards the open window.

“Mr. Stark,” Tony was addressed.

“Yup.”

“I take it you’re a US citizen.  And your…” he glanced down at their clasped hands, “…partner?”

“Him too.”

Bruce could feel one of the three soldiers on his side of the car staring him down.  He risked a glance and was met with a hard, icy stare.  He thought he saw the flicker of recognition cross his face before it was clouded with doubt.

“Can he answer for himself?” the soldier on Tony’s side asked.

“I’m a US citizen,” Bruce said, breaking eye contact with the intimidating man on his side of the car.

“Where are you coming from?”

“Malibu,” Tony answered.

“And where are you headed?”

Tony gave him a cheeky grin and put his sunglasses back on.  “Everywhere.”

“Where are you headed today?”

Now, all _three_ of the soldiers on Bruce’s side were studying him.  He could feel their eyes on him, even though he didn’t dare look straight at them again.

“Palm Springs.  Tech conference.  I’m kinda a big deal in the scientific community, you know.”

The soldier nodded.  “I know.”  He stepped back away from the window.  “Have a good day, Mr. Stark.  Drive safely.”

“Always,” Tony said before he peeled away, the screech of his tires echoing through the empty landscape.

They drove in silence for a few minutes, though Tony still didn’t let go of Bruce’s hand.

“See?” Tony said after he put a few miles between them and the checkpoint.  “No problem.”

Bruce nodded.  He was still trying to get his body back under control, though the immediate danger had passed.  He couldn’t shake that feeling of paranoia and abject terror.  Tony glanced sideways at him a few times and clasped his hand tighter to try to still the tremors.  He let go of the wheel for a moment to fish his phone out of his breast pocket and throw it on the dash.

“JARVIS, get Rhodey on the line,” Tony demanded.

“Sir, Colonel Rhodes is currently participating in military training maneuvers—“

“Get him on the line, J.”

After a second, Rhodey’s voice came through the car’s speakers.  “Tony, I’m in the middle of—“

“Rhodey, there’s a military checkpoint about 50 miles west of Palm Springs.  What are they looking for?”

“Despite what you think, I’m not actually _in charge_ of the entire US military.  I don’t know what they’re doing.  Can you at least tell me what unit and I’ll try to find out?”

“They weren’t wearing unit patches,” Tony replied, “but they were wearing Army BDU’s.”

“It’s probably the National Guard helping out the Border Patrol,” Rhodey said, exasperated.

“These guys didn’t look like Weekend Warriors.  They looked like mercenaries.”

Rhodey went quiet for a moment.  “Ok, Martini.  I’ll see what I can find out, but I really can’t drop what I’m doing right now.  I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

“Ok, Rhodey, thanks.

The line went quiet.  Tony looked at the rear view mirror and back at Bruce.  “It’s ok, Brucie.  No one’s coming after us.”

Bruce nodded again.  He was beginning to calm down a bit.  Tony turned up the air and adjusted the vents to blow cool air over him, and that made him feel a little better, too. 

“Do you want me to pull over?” Tony asked.

“No,” Bruce answered quickly.  “I just want to get away from there.”

Tony nodded and hit the gas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading, and I really appreciate comments and feedback of any kind!


	31. Chapter 30: Relaxing (with Mac and Cheese)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Bruce settle in to their vacation house, and Tony has an idea of how to break it in...

Bruce had calmed down considerably by the time they reached their rented house.  It was a small estate, hidden away just outside of Palm Springs, but a short enough drive to the golf courses that Tony thought about convincing Bruce to go a few rounds with him.  If nothing else, he’d probably have fun racing the golf carts around, but Bruce struck him as the type of guy who would like the meditation of golf.

The house Bruce found for them was not something that Tony would have chosen for himself, but he loved it all the more for it.  It was small—then again, he doubted they would be throwing any wild parties—but the high-ceilinged rooms were open and airy, with cool stone mosaic tiles under their feet and huge, overstuffed furniture and wall-sized screens in the ultra-modern living areas.  The kitchen was similar to the one at home in the Tower, with a professional gas range and an island with more of the mosaic stonework on the countertop.  They wandered outside to explore the lap pool and the sauna and the brick barbeque, but it was too hot to stay out doors for long, so they retreated to the bedroom.

Actually, there were several bedrooms; but, with a pointed look, Tony moved Bruce’s meager luggage into the master bedroom.  In Malibu, he wanted to give Bruce his own space, but this time he also wanted him to know that they were on vacation _together._   Bruce smiled sheepishly, and Tony knew his message was clear.

The bedroom—their bedroom—was decorated in cool white and warm brown.  The California king bed was draped in white linen that made it look like a cloud hovering in the middle of the room.  Tony imagined what Bruce would look like, tied up with black satin rope, naked in the center of all that white, tan skin darkened by the contrast, soft cotton sheets tangled around his legs.  He had to file the image away for later, though, because one look at Bruce, standing in the doorway holding the Mark V’s briefcase in one hand and leaning against the door jamb with the other, and he knew how worn out his poor Snowflake was.

The drive and the heat and the adrenaline crash from his scare had taken a lot out of Bruce, and he had to save some strength for the long weekend ahead.  There was a guarded look in Bruce’s eyes told Tony that he was mentally steeling himself for what was to come.

“Hey,” Tony said as he took the heavy briefcase from Bruce’s hand, “give me that.”  He put it next to the bed, on the left side which he claimed for himself.  “I like this place.  Good choice.”

That made Bruce beam.  “JARVIS helped.”

Tony nodded, accepting the answer, but not discrediting Bruce for his part. 

“What’s on the itinerary for today?” Tony asked.

Bruce shrugged with one shoulder.  “Get settled in.  Eat dinner.  We have to be at the convention center by 8 am tomorrow, but they’ll send a car if we want.  Your speech is at 10.”

Tony nodded again.  He could do 10.  When Pepper started as his PA, she figured out pretty quickly that the earlier in the morning his public appearances were scheduled, the less likely he would show up drunk; but, it was a precarious balance because too early and he would still be hung over from the day before.  She used to call 10am to 12pm his “magic hour,” even though it was technically two hours, because if she wanted him to show up on time, he usually needed an hour of wiggle room.

Damn, he made Pepper earn her six-figure salary.  He promised himself that he wouldn’t do the same to Bruce.  Especially because he refused the salary part.

“Let’s order in,” Tony said.  “And just relax, ok?”

Bruce looked a little confused.  “Ok.  But we did a lot of relaxing in Malibu.  Are you sure you don’t want to go out?”

“I’m sure _you_ don’t want to go out.”

Bruce’s face fell into a small, peaceful smile.

“Besides,” Tony continued, “I can think of plenty of things to do that don’t include going out.”  He punctuated his point by biting his lip and raking Bruce from head to toe in a smoldering gaze.

Bruce ran a hand through his hair and looked away.  Not a good sign.  He was far more shook up than Tony originally thought.

“Let’s eat,” Tony said. 

It was easy to distract Bruce with food.  Attaining sustenance was a constant struggle for him when he was on the run, and Tony was slowly learning that one way to draw him out of his fugitive mindset was to remind him that he didn’t need to worry about finding his next meal.  If he could provide Bruce with his basic needs—food, a place to sleep, something to wear—then Bruce would start to feel safe enough to open up.  It was pretty basic psychology, really.  Tony didn’t need to be a genius to figure it out, which is why it puzzled him that it took him so long to realize.

Bruce was nervous about ordering in—of course, Tony thought, he didn’t want to have strangers come to the door when they couldn’t hide behind JARVIS’s security protocols—but the kitchen had been fully stocked before they arrived.  So Tony sat Bruce down at the kitchen island and rummaged through the cupboards for something he could cook.  The trouble was that Tony didn’t cook, so he didn’t know where to start.

Bruce looked at the assorted ingredients piled on the counter in concern.  “What are you making?”

There was cheddar cheese, and frozen peas, and zucchini, and tomatoes, and canned soup and ketchup.  Yeah, he didn’t know.

Bruce slid off the seat and motioned Tony out of the way.  “What do you feel like eating?” Bruce asked.  He sounded tired.

“What was your favorite food when you were a kid?” Tony asked.

Bruce’s face twisted, but it wasn’t completely unpleasant.  He looked like he was trying to reach very far back in his memory.  “Macaroni and cheese,” he answered after a long time.  “The instant kind from the blue box.  It was the first meal I learned how to make for myself.”

“Yeah?  Let’s make that.”

“Oh god, no,” Bruce said.  “That stuff is disgusting.  It’s pure chemical.  That shade of orange does not exist in nature.”  Then, a little light came into his eyes.  “But maybe I can make a better version.”

Tony took Bruce’s place at the island and watched him dig through the refrigerator and the cupboards and he seemed pleased at what he found.  He set Tony to work grating a big block of cheddar cheese.  He didn’t find any traditional elbow macaroni, but he said the cavatappi would be even better, so he put a big pot of salted water on the stove.  As he waited for the water to boil, he sat down opposite Tony and grated a block of gruyere.

“What about you?” Bruce asked.  “What was your favorite food growing up?”

That was a harder question than Tony wanted to admit.  Formal banquets and international trips taught him early on to eat whatever was put in front of him.  Even though he was a strong-willed child, he never wanted to embarrass his family, which often meant swallowing down food that no young child would be expected to like.  But, when they returned home, Jarvis would always make him peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches and chocolate milk from that awesome powdered mix with the cinnamon in it that his mother brought home from Mexico that one time.

“Peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches,” Tony answered.

“That’s surprising,” Bruce said.

“Why?  What kid doesn’t like a good PB and J?”

Bruce paused in his grating and shoved his glasses up before they could slip down his nose.  “I don’t know.  I expected something more…exotic.  Or maybe alcoholic.”

“Hey now, I didn’t start hitting the sauce until I was at least 10.”

Bruce nodded, probably because he figured Tony wasn’t joking.  Which he wasn’t.

They lapsed into silence as Bruce dumped the pasta into the boiling water and mixed up a sauce of cream, nutmeg, pepper and salt.  He toasted a few slices of bread and had Tony crumble them up while he layered the cooked pasta and cheese, and dumped the cream mixture over it.  He topped the whole casserole with tomato slices and the bread crumbs and stuck the pan in the oven.

“It’ll be a little while,” Bruce said.

“Good.  Let’s talk a little while,” Tony said as he slid off the tall stool.  He headed towards the wide sofa in the living room.

Bruce wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and followed.  Tony sat on one end of the sofa and patted the seat cushion next to him.  Bruce sat obediently, waiting for Tony to start.

“We’re going to be around a lot of people tomorrow,” Tony started, “and I want you to feel comfortable.  So I think we should lay out some ground rules now so that there isn’t any confusion.”

“Like at the hair place?”

“Yeah.  Exactly.”  Bruce motioned for him to go on, so he did. “Most importantly, no matter what, I want you to be right next to me all the time.  I’m going to introduce you as my PA so that shouldn’t raise any questions at all.”

The small lines of tension around Bruce’s eyes softened.  “Good.  I like that rule.”

“You know, Brucie, that’s just as much for you as it is for me.  I don’t really like being left alone with those people.  I used to have Happy to run interference for me, but now…well, he’s doing a good job taking care of Pepper instead.”

Bruce put a hand on Tony’s knee and squeezed just a little.  “I won’t leave your side.  No matter what.”

“Good.  Now, the talking thing.  If you’re just my PA, no one is going to question if you don’t talk to anyone but me—but you’re not just a PA, and there are going to be some people you might _want_ to talk to, and I don’t ever want you to think that your thoughts and opinions aren’t valued.  You’re an amazing man, and your insights are invaluable.”

Bruce looked a little stricken.  He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but no sound came out, so he shut it again.  He finally muttered a quiet, “Thank you, Tony.”

Tony grinned.  “Yeah, that brings me to the third part.  Same as always, Brucie.  If someone compliments you, just thank them.  That’s all. There’s no need to get all embarrassed about it, ok?  You don’t have to feel bad inside when someone else is trying to make you feel good.  When people say good things, it’s because you _deserve_ it.”

Bruce nodded and looked down at his hands clasped in his lap.  Slowly, he slid down to the cool tile floor and positioned himself so that his head rested against Tony’s knee.  Tony accepted the contact and ran his hand through Bruce’s hair.

“Does that sound ok to you?”

“More than ok,” Bruce replied.

The oven timer beeped and Bruce sighed before starting to get to his feet, but Tony pressed on his shoulder to keep him down.

“You’ve done enough.  Just relax.  I’ll get it.”

Tony took the piping hot casserole out of the oven and served a double portion onto a plate.  He searched through the drawers for a fork and grabbed a couple of cold bottles of water out of the fridge.  On the way to the living room, he passed by an IPod dock built into the wall, so he took his phone out of his pocket and plugged it in.

“Some mood music, JARVIS,” he said.   “Something Bruce would like.”

Soft, classical guitar started playing from the surround sound stereo.

“Yeah, that’ll do.  Hey, any messages from Rhodey?”

“Colonel Rhodes has not replied.  Would you like to me alert you when he does?”

“Ah, no.  I want to hear the news before Bruce.  I’ll check later.”

Tony returned to the living room to see Bruce still sitting on the floor.  “Isn’t that floor hard?” Tony said.  “Wanna sit on the couch?”

Bruce shook his head, so Tony took the cushions off one side of the couch and set them on the floor.  “Here, at least get comfortable.” 

Bruce shifted so he was sitting on the plush cushion, but he leaned back onto Tony’s knee as soon as Tony took a seat.  Well, that actually worked a little better for what he had planned.  He balanced the plate on one knee and pressed Bruce closer to the other.  He took a taste of the pasta to make sure it wasn’t too hot.  It was perfect: cheesy and melty and the tang of the tomatoes popped against the sweet nutmeg.  So, Tony took a forkful and offered it to Bruce, swatting his hand down when he tried to take the fork away.

“No, Brucie, just let me take care of you.”

So Bruce did.  He was awkward at first, not like the first time he let Tony feed him after he was blissed out from a hard fuck.  But something inside Bruce just let go after the first few mouthfuls, and he let his head rest in Tony’s lap as he was fed like a pampered pet.  Tony alternated, offering Bruce a forkful then taking one for himself while Bruce chewed. 

“I want to try something tonight,” Tony said.

“What?” Bruce asked with his mouth full.

“I want to see if I can take you down.”

Bruce sat up and turned to look at him, confusion written on his face, but patiently waiting for Tony to explain.

“I think the trust between us is strong enough now that I can take you into ‘subspace,’” Tony continued.

“Euclidian or multilinear?”

“You’re such a nerd.  No, it’s kind of like detachment.  It’s when a sub trusts his Dom so much that his mind and his ego just kind of…give up and take a break for a while.  But it takes a lot of trust, and it’s just not possible for some people.  But I want to try.  I want to see if I can get you to that place.”

Bruce sat back on his heels, hands resting lightly on his knees as he considered.  “I trust you,” he said.

Tony felt his stomach do a little cartwheel in anticipation.  He had thought about this for a while now, and he wanted it to work…for his sake as much as Bruce’s.  Tony had been with Doms before—professional, amateur, and in between—but none of those people had been able to put him under.  He had never felt safe enough to give up control to that extent.  He wanted to give Bruce something rare and special that he couldn’t have for himself. 

“Will you wait here for me and let me get set up?”

Bruce nodded and pressed his cheek against Tony’s knee for a second before letting him up.  Tony left him leaning against the couch and went to unpack his suitcase.  On the way to the bedroom, he passed his phone, still resting on the wall dock, and JARVIS beeped at him.  He unhooked the phone and took it with him to the bedroom.

“What’s up, J?”

“There is a message from Colonel Rhodes,” JARIVS said, volume turned low so it didn’t echo into the living room.

“Play it.”

“Hey, Martini,” Rhodey’s voice came through the speakers, “I’m still looking into it, but there’s no record of any kind of military checkpoint anywhere in Southern California.  Whoever was out there weren’t our guys.  But don’t worry.  I’ll let you know if something turns up.”

Tony froze.  His eyes immediately flicked over to the Mark V, resting peacefully against the cloud-white bed, easily within reach.  He shook himself.  Bruce’s anxiety was rubbing off on him.  That guy really needed to relax.

And Tony knew exactly how to go about helping him with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arg! Every time I try to get back to the plot, Tony is like "NO! More sex! Now!" And it's just so hard to say no to Tony. *sigh*. Plot will happen. Eventually.


	32. Chapter 31: Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Tony ALWAYS gets his way...

 

When Tony returned to the living room, padding barefoot on the cool mosaic tile, Bruce was waiting where he had been left, leaning against the couch with his knees pulled up to his chest.  Without a word, Tony held out his hand and Bruce took it, allowing Tony to pull him to his feet and lead him into the bedroom. 

Bruce expected to be taken to the bed, but he was ushered into the master bathroom instead.  The bathroom was not nearly as expansive as Tony’s, but it had a glass-walled shower and a Jacuzzi tub.  Sandstone tiles decorated the floor and the backsplash behind the double sinks.  Towels, washcloths, and soap were laid out on the counter.

“How about a hot shower first?”

Bruce nodded.  The house was cool, but the long car ride left him feeling tacky and itchy with dried sweat.  He started to peel off his clothes, but Tony stilled his hands, so he let them drop by his sides. Tony unbuttoned his pale orange dress shirt, taking the time to be tender, unrushed, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.  Once Bruce was shirtless, he shucked his own shirt over his head.  As usual, Bruce’s eyes were drawn to the arc reactor like a moth to a flame.  Tony noticed, like he always did, but there was none of his usual defensiveness.  Instead, he picked up one of Bruce’s hands from where it hung by his side and pressed it flat against the round, slightly protruding metal casing.

“It’s ok.  You can touch it.  It doesn’t hurt when you do it,” Tony reassured, stepping a little closer to Bruce to punctuate his point.

So Bruce did, skirting light fingertips around the edge where metal merged with flesh, tracing the dark, bruised blood vessels with feather touches.  As he explored, Tony reached down and unbuttoned Bruce’s pants and pushed them down before doing the same with his own. 

They had to break apart so Tony could start the water, and soon the room was damp with steam.  The shower was big enough for both of them, so Tony followed Bruce into the warm stream.  The water drummed into the tense muscles across Bruce’s back and shoulders and soaked Tony’s hair, which hung limp over his face while Bruce’s hair, longer when it was wet, plastered itself over his ears and down the back of his neck. 

Tony kissed him, and the water ran down their faces, trickling off eyelashes, down cheeks, and between their lips when they broke apart.  The warmth of the shower made Tony flush, and Bruce was sure that he was blushing, too, but not from the hot water.  Tony pressed his forehead against Bruce’s and reached around behind him to pour soap onto the washcloth he held in one hand.  He kissed him again, this time slowly rubbing the soapy cloth up and down Bruce’s back as he parted Bruce’s mouth with his tongue.  The sensation was gentle, but intense—the heat of the water, the rough cloth slipping all over his skin, Tony’s tongue and teeth teasing at his lips.  It was hard to process that all at once, and it was almost too much—he almost pulled away to catch his breath, but Tony wrapped his arms around him and held him still, and after a moment the need to analyze and categorize each individual feeling passed and Bruce let himself just feel.

Perhaps a physical change came over him, though Bruce didn’t know how, but Tony seemed to notice and hummed encouragement against his mouth.  Bruce sighed, and the water that seeped between his lips tasted unmistakably of coconut.

Tony stepped back and Bruce almost tumbled forward trying to follow him, but Tony put a hand flat on his chest to steady him.  The washcloth traveled over Bruce’s front now, scrubbing across his shoulders and down his chest to his abs, and lower, over his half-hard dick and more gently over his balls.  Tony washed every inch of him, down his arms and legs, and spent a long moment scrubbing down the cleft of his ass and pressing at his hole while Bruce’s cock filled even more, bobbing against his thigh.  Then, Tony spun him around, barely giving him time to put his hands up to brace himself before he was pressed into the shower wall.  His legs were nudged apart, far, farther, and Tony kept one hand firm against his shoulder blades while soap-slick fingers prodded at his opening.  Bruce shuddered as two fingers breached him, burning him a little with the stretch as Tony soaped him inside and out.  The movements were harsh, but Tony’s fingers easily slipped in and out of him.

“That’s my good boy,” Tony said, right in his ear.  “Let’s get you nice and clean so we can play.” 

Bruce made a strangled noise as Tony forced a third finger in, pressing as deep as he could with the awkward angle.  But then they were gone, both too quickly and too soon, and the cloth was back, wiping away the suds that dripped from his hole.

Tony left him on unsteady feet as he gave himself a cursory scrub, and then he ushered Bruce out of the shower and toweled him off as he stood dripping on the mat.  Tony didn’t give him any clothes to wear, but Bruce supposed they wouldn’t last long anyway, so he wrapped the towel around his waist and followed Tony into the bedroom.

“Sit here,” Tony told him, pointing to the edge of the fluffy white bed.  Bruce did as he was told, and the plush mattress sank under his weight.

Tony reached under the pillow and brought out a thick, black cotton blindfold.  “How do you feel about wearing this?” he asked, holding it out for inspection.

Bruce touched it.  The material was soft, with a slight sheen, and long enough to wrap at least twice around his head.  It was just simple cloth: no locks, no leather, nothing that couldn’t be undone in a second or two.  He nodded.

Tony smiled.  “Once I put it on, I want to be the one to take it off, ok?” Tony said.  Bruce nodded again.

The last things he saw before Tony wrapped the blindfold across his face were Tony’s eyes, quick and warm and dark as black coffee, and his face, love and acceptance written clearly across his usually snarky features.

And then he was kissed again, and Bruce could feel that warmth against his lips and tongue and he could feel Tony whisper “Good boy” silently against him.

“Lay down here,” Tony directed. 

He pulled on Bruce’s arm until he climbed up fully onto the bed and stretched prone on his stomach.  Calloused fingers traced down his sides, tickling slightly around his hips and down the back of his thighs.  Bruce couldn’t help the goose bumps that prickled his arms and legs as the bed shifted with Tony’s weight as he climbed up so he was sitting next to Bruce.

Tony began to massage his shoulders and guided his arms to lay palms-up, straight down his sides.

“Subspace is different for everyone,” Tony said.  “Some people get there through pain, as the rush of endorphins that are triggered by physical trauma over power everything else.”  Bruce sucked in a breath.  That sounded…dangerous…to try, and he really didn’t want to risk it.  But Tony soothed him with a firm hand pressed on the back of his neck.  “No, we’re not going to do that.  I’m not going to hurt you.  I don’t ever want to hurt you.  Can you say it for me?  So I know you understand?”

Bruce was surprised at how hard it was for him to summon his voice, but he managed to say it.  “You’re not going to hurt me, Tony.”

Tony returned to massaging his back, moving down to rub the muscles on either side of his ribcage.  “Good boy.  No, I’m going to try to get you there a different way.  I want to make you feel so good, Brucie.  I want to you feel so good that nothing else matters.  But you can always tell me to stop.  I’ve had to do it before, with other Doms.  I’ll understand.  It’s nothing personal, ok?”

And then Bruce was glad that he was wearing the blindfold because it soaked up the few tears that escaped his eyes.  “Ok, Tony.”

“Good boy.  Ok, now, up on your knees.”

Bruce gathered his knees under him, but Tony was still pressing in between his shoulders, keeping them pinned to the bed.  Then, Tony reached between his legs from behind and drew his left arm under his body, between his spread knees.  Soft leather was fastened around his wrist and then around his left ankle, tethering them together.  His right arm followed, and was tightly bound to his right ankle.  He had to spread his knees even farther to accommodate his limbs, which left his ass raised high. Tony carefully untangled the towel and it made a wet plopping noise when it landed on the floor.  The cool, air-conditioned air caressed his ass and drafted down his cleft, making Bruce feel incredibly exposed.

Tony palmed his ass, squeezing and massaging the firm muscles.  “You are so beautiful like this, so open for me,” Tony said.

“Thank you, Tony,” Bruce said, mostly into the mattress since his face was forced down into the pillowy duvet. 

Tony parted his cheeks and Bruce could feel Tony’s beard scrape against the sensitive skin as Tony leaned in to press a kiss on his lower back.  His breath quickened in anticipation in the long moment that followed, but nothing could prepare him for the hot, wet lick of a tongue across his hole.  Bruce yelped and his entire body tried to shoot forward before the tethers caught him and refused to let him move. 

“Shh…” Tony soothed, massaging his thumbs in the crease where his buttocks met the top of his thighs. 

Tony pulled him even farther apart, and licked again, pressing more firmly this time, going slowly so that Bruce could swear he could feel every slick millimeter of his tongue.  He moaned, long and broken, as Tony swirled around his hole, occasionally darting into the center with just the tip, teasing and circling and driving Bruce absolutely wild.  His cock was straining, hard and aching, and he couldn’t rub against anything but air in his position, though he was sure he would come if Tony did as much as touch him.

And Tony was gone, and Bruce was left shivering and groaning with loss.  Then hands were on his balls, squeezing until he cried out and the need to come was overridden by the pressure.  Straps were wrapped around his cock from just beneath the head all the wall down the shaft and tightened before more straps went around and between his balls.

“There,” Tony said, and the bed shifted as he sat back to admire his handiwork.  “I want you to last for a long time, and we’re just warming up.”

Then, with the danger of Bruce coming contained, Tony rimmed him in earnest.  Bruce bucked against the straps, his fists opening and closing on open air as Tony’s tongue tortured him mercilessly, thrusting past his defenses to taste him inside, firm and soft and so hot and wet.  He was crying behind the blindfold now, making short, sobbing little noises that made him hiccup when he swallowed too much air.  It was too much, too much pleasure, and his balls ached so badly as the leather cut into his most sensitive parts, but it was all so good that he couldn’t bear to make it end.   

But it did end, with one last swipe of a flat tongue from balls up to the small of his back. Bruce lay panting, squeezing his eyes tight behind the blindfold.  Tony’s weight shifted again, then he was back, and something blunt pressed against his rim.  It was wide, so wide that it took Bruce’s breath away at first, and he tried to shift forward and escape it.

“Stay, Snowflake,” Tony’s voice was firm and held Bruce like iron.

It burned as it stretched Bruce’s hold open, catching on the sphincter inside. Tony paused, rubbing Bruce’s back while he allowed him to adjust.  But, with no warning, he gave it a firm push and it popped inside, eliciting a pained cry from Bruce.  But, after the initial sharp pain, a warm flush of endorphins sizzled down Bruce’s spine and his cry ended in a whimper that made Tony hum with satisfaction.

“Is that good, Snowflake?” Tony asked. 

Bruce whimpered again as he pushed it further in.  Not only was this thing wide, it was long, ploughing into him like it would never end.  It bumped past his prostate, and Bruce could feel little ridges and bumps catch on his rim and scrape the sensitive membranes inside.  When Bruce thought he couldn’t take any more, he felt the base pressed flush with his hole. 

“That’s it…that’s my good boy,” Tony said, and there was real pride in his voice.  “Just look at how much you’ll take, all for me.”

One hand kept the intruder firmly lodged in his ass while the other hand pulled straps around his thighs and waist.  They were drawn tight and buckled so that there was no chance of the dildo escaping.  Tony shifted back to admire his handiwork.  He wiggled it a bit, making Bruce groan at the feeling of it moving inside him.  And then Tony turned the base and it hummed to life.

Bruce moaned and struggled, but Tony wrapped his hands around his hipbones to steady him until he could keep himself still.  His cock strained against its cage, leaking steadily now.

And then Tony started kissing him all over.  He started on his upturned ass, stroking and petting and kissing chastely up and down the back of Bruce’s thighs.  He traveled all over his back as Bruce strained to stay still, over each shoulder, on the back of his neck up into his hairline. 

It was all too much, too much sensation, too much building up inside Bruce like a dam that about to break.  And then it _did_ break, and it felt like an orgasm, the sweet release of pressure, but he wasn’t coming, not physically, but every emotion that he kept bottled up and hidden away broke forth and Bruce tried to tell Tony, but he was babbling nonsense, and Tony was still kissing him, down his calves, the bottoms of his feet, and the wave passed up and over him and left nothing but a shivering, hypersensitive peace in its wake.

“Ok, Snowflake?  You still in there?” 

Tony was standing by his head…when had he gotten there?  But the vibrator was still buzzing away, buried deep in his ass, and his dick was still hard as diamond, slick and dripping.

Bruce tried to answer, that yes, everything was ok, it was as ok as he’d ever been in his life, but he couldn’t get his mouth to form the words.  Then, Tony’s hands were on him again, and that was _so much better_ , but they were on the cuffs, pulling the emergency releases on the buckles and Bruce’s wrists and ankles were free, and only then did Bruce realize that Tony thought he was in trouble.

“Green,” Bruce managed, voice hoarse and shaky.

“Ok,” Tony sounded relieved.  “Ok, Brucie.”

Tony didn’t remove the blindfold or the cage or the vibrator, but he rubbed Bruce’s arms and legs and urged him onto his knees.  The new position shifted the vibrator even deeper, and Bruce could feel the vibrations echoing up into his belly.

Tony touched his face, tracing his jaw.  “Now you’re going to suck me off, Snowflake.  And you’re going to make it good for me because you’re my good boy.”

Bruce nodded into Tony’s hand.  He’d do anything, and he knew Tony wouldn’t ask him to do anything he couldn’t or wouldn’t do. 

Tony climbed up onto the bed and sat against the headboard.  He positioned Bruce so that he was kneeling between his spread legs.  He cuffed Bruce’s hands behind his back so that Bruce couldn’t use his hands this time, and then reached behind him to turn up the vibrations one notch, then another.

A touch to the back of Bruce’s head told him to lean down and his lips found the swollen head of Tony’s cock.  Without his eyes, he had to use his tongue to determine how to proceed, and Tony felt much bigger when he couldn’t see.  The taste of salt and metal was overwhelming, but still, underneath it all was the sweetness of coconut.  He sucked and bobbed his head, careful not to scrape his teeth against the sensitive skin, wrapping his tongue around the head when he pulled back.  Tony moaned and the hand on the back of his head fisted in his hair, and Bruce loved every sound he managed to coax from Tony and every twitch of tension he could feel in those clever fingers.  He sank deeper, wanting to take him all, wanting so much to prove to Tony that he could be good, too.

“Ah! Ah, that’s enough, Snowflake,” Tony said as he pulled on his hair to raise his head away from his cock.  “I’m gonna come if you keep that up much longer.”

Bruce whimpered.  He wanted Tony to come.  He wanted to make him come.

But then Tony turned him around and pressed his chest back down to the bed, and yes, this would be better.  Tony nudged his knees apart and reached underneath him to unbuckle the harness and pull the vibrator out of his ass.  When it was almost free, he suddenly pushed it back in again, wrenching a cry from Bruce’s throat.  He did it again, pulling it out slowly before shoving it back in.  Finally, he ripped it all the way free, and the force of it made Bruce want to curl in on himself as his asshole fluttered and tried to clench down on the air.  But then Tony thrust into him all at once, and Bruce groaned because the feeling of Tony’s hot flesh was infinitely more satisfying than any mechanical wonder.

Tony moved, circling his hips, snapping forward before easing backwards oh so slowly and snapping forward again.  Cool hands were on his overheating cock and balls, flicking off the straps before they moved to grasp his hips with bruising force, and Tony fucked him hard, slamming into him again and again, and Bruce braced his shoulders and pushed back to meet his every thrust.

Bruce came first, moaning and crying, and he would have collapsed into the mattress if Tony wasn’t holding his hips, refusing to let him sink down.  Tony kept up his brutal pace, and Bruce cried again as Tony reached around to milk his oversensitive flesh, keeping him coming and contracting around Tony’s cock until he, too, stiffened and cried out and spent himself deep inside Bruce.

The roar in Bruce’s ears subsided, and for a while, the only sound was their mingled pants.  Bruce was lowered down onto the mattress.  He felt like he was sinking into a cloud, floating through time and space.  His arms were released, the cuffs removed, and he was rolled onto his left side where he could curl his legs into his chest.  Something warm and wet cleaned away the sticky mess on his belly and thighs.  Then, a gentle hand rested in his hair, stroking the side of his face and tracing the edges of the blindfold.

“Ok, Brucie?  Ready to come back now?”

No, Bruce thought.  He never wanted to come back again.  But already, he could feel the floating sensation fading away, hear the buzz of the air conditioning and he knew it would not last.  He nodded.

The blindfold was loosened and removed, and Bruce blinked at the too-white light.  But then Tony’s face came into focus, and he looked concerned and a little nervous. 

“How was that?”

“Amazing,” Bruce said.

Tony looked so relieved.  He grinned, but there was none of the cockiness that Bruce expected, none of the “of course, I’m Tony Fucking Stark” attitude he usually displayed. 

Tony moved so he was lying behind Bruce, chest pressed to back, tracing the curve of his body.  Strong arms wrapped around him from behind, holding him close.  And, for once in Bruce’s life, it felt right to let himself be held, to be cared for, to just _be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. As always, I hope you're enjoying the story and I would love to hear from you.


	33. Chapter 32: The Conference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like most of Tony's ideas, bringing Bruce to the conference was absolutely brilliant.

Like most of Tony’s ideas, bringing Bruce to the tech summit was absolutely brilliant. 

First of all, Bruce looked stunning in the clothes Tony chose for him.  He stepped out of his bedroom that morning looking shy, hands buried in the pockets of the charcoal slacks, the matching plaid vest buttoned over a white shirt, and the bowtie…yeah…bow-tied Bruce rocked Tony’s world.  Topped off with his Stark Glasses and his watch, Bruce looked positively dapper.  He had even let Tony rub some styling wax into his curls so they looked like the perfect cross between bedhead and I-don’t-care chic.  But Tony had laughed a little when he saw Clint’s multi-tool tucked neatly into the inside pocket of Bruce’s vest, invisible against Bruce’s body when he pulled on his suit jacket.

“What?” Bruce asked in mock indignation.  “It might come in handy.  The Law of Tech Conferences says that the number of broken projectors is directly proportional to the number of geeks present.”

“Have you been carrying that thing with you everywhere?”

“Yeah, I have.  It…makes me feel better.  And I don’t want to lose it.”

So Tony didn’t mention it again.  Maybe he was growing more nostalgic in his old age, but the idea was charming.

Secondly, Bruce was actually a great attaché.  His cool, collected demeanor kept Tony on track all morning without being bossy (like Pepper) or letting him get away with too much (like Happy).  JARVIS had the roster for the entire conference uploaded to the Stark Glasses, so Bruce could lean in and whisper to Tony exactly who he was talking to, where they had met before, and an appropriate topic of conversation.  And it was a pretty great coincidence that Bruce had been doing so much strength training with Cap because he could carry the 42-pound Mark V briefcase as if it was nothing.

They had arrived on time (earlier than usual, thanks to Bruce) and well-fed (again, thanks to Bruce).  Still, Tony bypassed registration when a young lady tried to issue them name badges.

“Darling, everyone knows who I am, and no one cares who he is,” Tony said, jerking his thumb at Bruce.

The lady looked a little aghast at the way he treated his PA, but he saw Bruce bite his lip to hide his smile.  He knew the last thing Bruce wanted was a name badge announcing who he was.  Heck, he hadn’t even put his real name on the registration forms.

“You’re going to get a reputation,” Bruce said as they walked to the main hall.

Tony looked over the rim of his red-tinted sunglasses.  “I _have_ a reputation.  I’m just upholding it.”

But Tony was already thinking about his speech.  They arrived through the side entrance of the packed main hall just in time for him to grab some water and take a deep breath.  He left Bruce standing at the side of the stage neatly hidden behind the curtains and holding tight to the red and gold briefcase, and went to put on a show.

****

“So, as you can see,” Tony concluded, waving the holographic displays closed, “the implication of nanotechnology are far-reaching in every field.  The benefits to defense, medicine, education, and agriculture, among others, have the opportunity to solve problems that have plagued humankind since we first painted on cave walls.

However, these problems are for all of humankind.  I’ll be the first to admit that I thought one person could change the world—one person, given the right tools and the right motivation. But I was wrong—which is _not_ something I admit often.  I refused to work with a team because I thought they would hold me back, that I could do more, faster, on my own.  But that’s not true.  I just hadn’t found the right team yet.”

Tony let his gaze travel across the crowd, around to the side to lock eyes with Bruce, who was clutching the Mark V in a white-knuckle grip and looking at Tony with a small smile and bright eyes. 

“So, my challenge to all of you is to go find your team.  Go find the person—or, people, if you’re very lucky—who make you better, faster, stronger, smarter; the people who frustrate the hell out of you because you finally realize that you can be so much _more_ with them there.  The people who make you cry with joy, who make you anxious and scared and _angry_ because they push you past your limits and help you redefine yourself.  Because, when you find those people, you find the person you always wish you could be.

Thank you.”

The crowd explode with applause, and someone in the back shouted “I love you, Tony!” above the din as Tony bowed and walked quickly off the stage.  Bruce was waiting for him, hand held to greet him with a congratulatory handshake that he held for a second longer than was strictly professional.

“Good speech, Boss,” Bruce said quietly.

“Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” Tony replied with a cocky grin.

Then there were other people, hands held out to shake, business cards held out for Bruce to intercept, but Bruce ushered him back out the side door before he could become too overwhelmed. 

“What’s on the agenda now?” Tony asked.

“Uh…” By the way Bruce’s eyes unfocused slightly, he could tell that he was looking at the glasses’ display.  “Lunch with the other speakers is at one, so we have a few hours to kill before then.“ 

“Ok, what do you want to see?”

“I thought you’d like—“

“No, Brucie, what do _you_ want to see?”

“Well, the biotech talks are mostly in Hall 20.”

“Let’s go.”

****

Bruce wanted to see a demonstration of biomechanical prosthetics controlled by residual nerve endings rewired to deliver electronic signals to the artificial limbs.  An Afghanistan war veteran showed how she could pick up ping pong balls and type on a keyboard with nothing but her thoughts.  Bruce was on the edge of his seat, writing notes furiously into his tablet.  Every now and again, he’d elbow Tony in the ribs and show him scribbling that Tony was sure he would need a Rosetta Stone to decipher later.

“What the hell is that?” Tony whispered, pointing to a wiggly line that connected a little disk-shaped thingy to something that looked maybe like a…glove?

“Shh!” Bruce said.  “It’s a wireless signal.  Subdermal sensors.  Gauntlet.”

Wireless sensors connecting to a….oh. Oh!  Oh fucking brilliant.  Tony snatched the tablet out of Bruce’s hands and flipped through his other drawings—if you could call them that.  Really, Bruce needed to take a drafting class.  He was using stick-figures for goodness sake.

It looked possible.  Definitely probable.  He gave the tablet back to Bruce and decided to pay a little more attention to the demonstration.

****

“Kamen’s work is amazing,” Bruce said as they left the hall through the side door.  “It’s really changing lives, and the engineering behind it is so elegant.”

Tony snorted a little. “I thought we were working on _your_ armor next.”

“I thought Tony Stark could multitask.”

Tony smiled.  But then someone was coming up behind him because Bruce’s brow knit and his eyes focused in that way that meant he was reading JARVIS’s display. 

“He’s just an attendee,” Bruce said quietly.  “Dr. Castor, astrophysicist from University of Idaho.”

Tony nodded and turned to see a middle-age, tall man in jeans and a sports coat approaching him in that nervous, jumpy way that Tony knew meant he was screwing up his courage to talk to him.

“M-Mr. Stark?” the man said in that tone that was more a question than a statement.  “I was wondering? Do you have a minute?”

Stuttering was adorable when Bruce did it.  This guy was just annoying.  Still, Tony could give him a few seconds of time.  Seconds.  Literally.

“Yes…?” he said, waiting for him to supply a name, even though Bruce had already told him.  It was a way to remind the other man of his manners—or lack thereof in this case.

“Oh! Castor. Dr. Ed Castor. I’m an astrophysicist?  From Idaho?”

“Yes, Dr. Castor.  What would you like to talk about.”  The seconds were counting down.

“I was wondering if I could talk to you about…about wormholes.”

Oh fuck this shit.

“In particular? Oh would you like my opinions on the Deep Space Nine series?” Tony tried for casual, but the he could hear the edge in his own voice.

“I…I was wondering if you could tell me…did you recognize any of the constellations? Or anything else that would identify _where_ you were.”

In hell.  Or his version of hell, if he believed in such a place.  Cold, no air, no sound, nothing…just…nothing except the stutter of his own heart as it failed him, and he wasn’t looking at the fucking _stars_ because all he could see was the supernova flash of the destruction of an alien race.

And then he blacked out.

Or started to, at least, his vision greying out as he forgot how to breathe, and he couldn’t feel his legs and he didn’t really know if he was still standing or not.  But then there was a warm, familiar hand splayed on his back, holding him upright, and Bruce was talking.

“I’m sorry, but that’s classified information that Mr. Stark is not at liberty to discuss, and there’s a discussion in Hall 5 starting that we must attend.”

And then Bruce was walking away, pushing Tony in front of him, so yes, he was still on his feet because he was moving, but that wasn’t going to last for long.  Bruce had one hand on his back, driving him forward, and opened a door with his other hand.  It was a men’s room, out of the way of the main traffic and blessedly empty.  Bruce locked the door with the flick of his wrist and Tony leaned against the wall and sank down to the floor.  His lungs were aching from lack of air, and he panted to try to get more oxygen.

“Hey, hey,” Bruce said.  He kneeled down in front of Tony, loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt.  “You’re hyperventilating.  Deep breaths.  Count to five on each inhale and exhale.”

But Tony couldn’t calm down.  He squeezed his eyes shut until tears leaked through, but all he could see was black black space all around him, and he was never going to hear Pepper’s voice again, never going to laugh at JARVIS’s jokes, or drink with Rhodey, and never going to get to kiss Bruce.

“Three minutes,” Bruce’s voice said.  “It takes three minutes for your body to get rid of the adrenaline.  That’s all.  We can wait this out.  Just breathe with me, ok?”

Bruce pulled him into his arms so that he could feel the steady expansion of his chest and his hand massaging his palms.

“I…I wasn’t ready,” Tony mumbled.

“Yeah, I don’t know how you’d be ready for that kind of question,” Bruce replied.

Tony swallowed.  He was beginning to feel like his heart wasn’t trying to escape out through the arc reactor casing, though it left a dull ache in its wake.  “No.  In New York, I wasn’t ready.  I just thought that it was the only choice I had.  If there had been another way—any other way—I would have…”

“Shh,” Bruce cut him off.  He moved one hand to rub Tony’s back.  “Everything’s ok. It’s all over, and you made the very best choice you could at the time.  And it was the right one.  But it’s over.  Nothing we can do can change it now.”

Tony wiped at the tears dripping down his face.  He wasn’t crying, not really, but still the tears wouldn’t stop.  Bruce rose and stepped over to the sink to soak a paper towel in water.  He kneeled down again and wiped the cold cloth over Tony’s face.  It felt amazing, and it helped bring Tony back to the present.  Slowly, he was aware of the sweat cooling on his back, and the hard tile beneath him.  More than anything, he wanted to go home, to Malibu, and be back on the beach in the sun, or deep in his workshop where he could drown out these thoughts in creative fury.

“Let’s get out of here,” Bruce said.  “We’ll skip lunch, get the car to take us downtown and find somewhere with awful greasy food and cheese that comes from a can.”

“Yeah,” Tony said.  “We can come back later for the afternoon sessions.”

“If we feel like it,” Bruce said as he buttoned Tony’s shirt back up and fixed his tie.  He left the top one undone and the tie a little loose, but Tony could pull off the casual look, so he didn’t mind.

Tony glanced in the mirror to make sure the tear tracks were gone and to run a hand through his hair while Bruce used his phone to call the car that had driven them to the conference that morning.  He was done by the time Tony decided he looked presentable. 

“Ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.  Thanks, Bruce.  That was…rough.”

“I know, Tony.  You do the same for me, you know.”

Bruce unlocked the door, picked up the Mark V where it was propped up by the wall, and led the way to the back entrance of the conference center.  The sleek, black limo was waiting for them, the air conditioner already blasting to max to combat the mid-morning desert heat.  Bruce held the back door open for Tony before sliding inside to sit opposite of him.

The driver turned to look through the open divider at Bruce and awaited his directions.  He was young, clean-cut, polite, with tattoos peeking out from under his long white sleeves…Hector…his name was Hector, Bruce remembered.

“Hector, where are the best French fries in town?”

The kid smiled.  “I know a place with really good garlic fries.”

“Good.  That’s where we want to eat.”

“Right away, Sir,” the driver said. 

Hector raised the divider as they pulled out onto the street, leaving them in privacy.  Tony sighed, finally feeling more like himself now that they were away from the crowds.  “Are you sure you don’t mind leaving?” he asked Bruce.  “You’re not disappointed?”

“Me?  No, not at all.  And the day’s not over yet,” Bruce replied.  He threw a leg over the Mark V where it was resting on the floor.  “That suitcase is pretty heavy,” Bruce said.  “It’ll be nice to not lug it around for a little bit.”

Tony opened his mouth to reply, but it turned into a huge yawn.  He hadn’t realized how tired he was until he got into the car.  Bruce looked tired, too, his eyes drooping a little bit.  The heat, the long morning, the adrenaline rush…it was all a little too much for a relaxing vacation right now.  Tony shifted over to sit next to Bruce so he could lay his head on his shoulder.  Bruce made a positive sound in the back of his throat and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

Seconds later, they were both sound asleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And back to the plot! Thanks so much for reading, and please leave a comment if you have a moment and are so inspired. It makes my day to hear from you!


	34. Chapter 33: The name's Banner.  Bruce Banner.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never underestimate Bruce Banner.

Bruce woke with a groan.  The ground beneath him was hard and cold, and he could feel open space around him.  He ached all over, as if he’d been knocked down a flight of stairs.  Of course, if he had, the Other Guy would have probably made an appearance.  At that thought, he automatically reached back into his mind to see how the Big Guy was feeling.  He was there, but he felt very far away and sluggish.  He’d been drugged, then, probably with a heavy sedative.  Ketamine, maybe, or gamma-butyrolactone.

His head pounded, and it took a moment for his thoughts to clear enough to assess the situation.  His hands were tied behind his back; he guessed it was a zip-tie by the fell of sharp plastic edges cutting into his wrists when he tried to move.  He was lying on his left side on cold concrete.  He still had his glasses on, and the watch was secure around his wrist. 

The last thing he remembered was falling asleep with Tony’s head resting on his shoulder.

Tony.  Where was Tony?

Bruce wormed around until he was facing the other way, and there was Tony, trussed up and out cold.  He was facing Bruce, and Bruce could hear the loud wheeze of his breathing and see the effort it took for his ribs to expand.  He was lying mostly on his side, but he had fallen a little onto his front, which restricted his chest and his airways.

“Tony?” Bruce called out.  No answer.

So Bruce wiggled his way across the floor until he was nose to nose with Tony.  The engineer didn’t stir, but Bruce managed to wedge a shoulder under Tony’s and roll him more onto his side.  That helped a little, but he was still struggling to breath.  Whatever drug they gave him, it was too much.

And, apparently, not enough to keep Bruce down for as long as they intended.

“JARVIS?” Bruce asked softly.

The Stark Glasses booted up, and Bruce sighed with relief. 

“Doctor Banner!” JARVIS sounded panicked through the earpiece.

“JARVIS, it’s great to hear your voice.  I really need you right now.  Do the glasses have any kind of bioscanner to assess Tony?”

“I regret the Stark Glasses do not have the necessary software to process a visual scan.  If you can put the watch on Mr. Stark’s wrist, I can use those sensors.”

“Uh…I’m a little tied up at the moment.  Ok, ok, can you call the suit to come get us?”

“This facility has extensive electromagnetic shielding.  I cannot send or receive any signals.  I can contact the Mark V, but that model does not have the automated capabilities of the later models.”

“What happened?  Did you manage to contact anyone from the car?”

JARVIS sounded as sad and guilty as he had ever heard an AI sound.  “The car was also electromagnetically shielded.  By the time I detected the sleeping gas in the car, it was too late for Mr. Stark to take command of the Mark V, so I determined the best course of action was to keep the Mark V on lockdown so that no one else could take control of the suit.”

“That was a good choice, JARVIS.  It’s ok.  We’ll get out of here.  Just keep trying to get a signal, and contact the Tower or Rhodey or whoever you can as soon as you get it.  Do you know where we are?”

“Not exactly.  The electromagnetic interference disrupted all GPS connection.  However, by the speed of the car and time traveling, I would estimate that we are within a 98 mile radius of the convention center.”

“Ok, you tell them that when you can get a hold of them.  Just be quiet, ok?  I don’t think they realize you’re with us.”

“I agree, Doctor Banner.  I will not make my presence known.”

Bruce lay quietly, reaching out to Hulk with no real progress.  He was groggy and fuzzy, so the drugs hadn’t burned all the way off quite yet.  Anyway, sealed in a room with an unconscious Tony was not the most ideal circumstances for a transformation.  Still, the Other Guy was a lot more rational when he managed to trigger a transformation by choice than when his body was forced into it under stress.  Then, the Hulk was just a giant reactive force and a lot less interested in listening to reason. 

A groan from Tony snapped Bruce’s attention back to the present.  Tony’s face screwed up in pain as he reflexively tested his bonds.  Then he groaned again as his eyes fluttered open.

“What the holy _fuck_ …” he moaned.  He started panting to get more air, but ended up inhaling the dust off the floor and coughing. 

“Shh, Tony, just relax.  I’m here,” Bruce said.

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.  What happened?”

“We were drugged in the car, and we’re about 90 miles away from Palm Springs.  JARVIS can’t reach Heartbreaker, and the Mark V is here somewhere, but he can’t bring it here.”

Tony blinked up into the fluorescent lighting overhead.  “I feel sick.”

“You’re not reacting well to the drugs.  I think the Other Guy is helping me burn them off pretty quickly, but you’ve got to take it easy because I can hear the strain it’s putting on your breathing.  It can’t be good for your heart, either.”

Tony nodded, but he still tried to get up onto his knees.  He didn’t get very far; he ended up with his forehead pressed into the concrete, halfway between prone and kneeling before falling over again with a groan.

“Tony, stay still.”

Tony fell into another coughing fit.  “You need to get out of here,” he gasped.  “They must be after me.  If they knew who you are, then they would have you drugged up to your eyeballs.”

Bruce scoffed.  “I’m not leaving you here.  _You’re_ the one who can barely breathe right now.”  Tony tried again to get to his knees.  “ _Tony!_   Please, just stay still!”

But Bruce didn’t have to argue for much longer because they both froze at the sound of heavy boots outside the door.  Tony let himself fall back down, throwing himself between Bruce and the door just as it swung open.

Two men, dressed in Army fatigues and holding machine guns at the ready, came in through the door.  It shut behind them with the unmistakable click of an electronic lock.  They had their sleeves rolled up to their massive biceps, and one of them had long lightning bolts tattooed down both forearms.  Bruce noted that they were missing their identification patches, and his memory flashed back to the checkpoint they passed into town. 

“Awake so soon, Mr. Stark?” Lightning Bolts asked. 

He grabbed the back of Tony’s suit jacket and hauled him to his knees while his partner did the same to Bruce.

“I’m sorry about the unpleasantries, but there is some very sensitive information that you are in possession of.  The owner wants it back.”

Tony coughed and sat back on his heels so he could look the man in the face.  Bruce kept his eyes down and focused on Tony.

“Look, GI Joe, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The soldier slammed the butt of his rifle into Tony’s solar plexus, knocking him over with a strangled cry.  He gasped for air on the ground.

“He can’t breathe!” Bruce shouted.  “He’s not reacting well to the sedatives!”

Both soldiers turned their attention to Bruce.  The soldier behind him shook him by his collar while Lightning Bolts trained his rifle on his chest.

“And who the fuck are you?” Lightning Bolts asked.

“Dr. David Bancroft.  I’m Mr. Stark’s assistant and personal physician.”

The short distraction gave Tony time to get back to his knees.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony said.  “Who wants what?  I’m on a lot of people’s shit list.  Care to help me narrow it down?”

Lightning Bolts turned his gun away from Bruce and Bruce let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.  He shut his eyes and tried to reach back to the Other Guy, but he still wasn’t responding. 

The soldier reached into his back pocket, took out a small photograph, and threw it on the floor at Tony’s knees.  From what Bruce could see, it was a grainy image, probably blown up from a security camera with horrible resolution.  It was black and white, and the man in the picture was thin, with a sharp-angled face half-hidden by a ratty hooded sweatshirt. 

It was Bruce.  The photo was old—eight, maybe ten years old--probably from the first year or two after the accident when he was constantly on the run, homeless, starving, before he had adapted to life on the lam.  But he looked so different now that he was living with Tony that he was surprised he even recognized himself.  He looked so young and lost then, and it was a terrible photograph on top of that.

Tony was studying the photo, too, and he didn’t dare look up to meet his eyes.

“Who’s this?”

“You know who this is.  You took his files.  And General Ross wants them back.”

“Oh, General Ross?  You mean the guy I _made weapons for?_ What makes you think I have his files?”

And then the situation really started going to hell.  Lightning Bolts kicked Tony again, and Bruce yelled at him to stop, and then, suddenly, Bruce was on the ground with a boot on the back of his neck and the muzzle of a rifle pressed to his temple.

“Maybe if I put a bullet through your friend’s head it’ll help you remember,” the soldier said.

Tony laughed, though it dissolved into more hacking coughs.  “You’re going to shoot him?  Go right the fuck ahead.  It’ll make my day.  I hate doctors.”

Bruce could feel the uncertainty in the way the weight of the boot shifted on the back of his neck.  Tony’s response caught him off guard.  It wasn’t what he expected.  So these guys weren’t nearly as professional as they thought they were.

“Shoot him!” Tony yelled, and the vehemence in his voice made the two soldiers look at each other.  “You have _no_ idea how much I want you to do that right now.”

“Tony…” Bruce said. “This is really not the best way to deal with this situation.” 

If the Other Guy did show, Tony had no way to get out of his way.  And if he didn’t show, well, then….

“Just shoot him and get it over with!  Just do it!” Tony screamed.

A deafening shot, followed by a scream, echoed in the small concrete room.  Bruce screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the flood of green, but it didn’t happen.  And there was still screaming, but it wasn’t his voice. 

Bruce opened his eyes to see the two soldiers retreating out the door.  Tony was writhing on the floor in a pool of blood, swearing and gasping for air.

“General Ross will be here in two hours,” Lightning Bolts said from the doorway.  “I suggest you reconsider your position.”

And the door slammed shut again.

Tony stopped screaming, but he still groaned and thrashed on the floor.

“Tony!” Bruce said.  “Tony!”

“He _shot_ me!” Tony shouted.  “That motherfucker SHOT me!”

Bruce wiggled his way across Tony’s side as fast as he could.  Tony was on his back with his arms twisted beneath him.  Blood spread across his shoulder and down his arm.  There were smears of blood all across the floor to mark where Tony had struggled.  From his position, Bruce couldn’t tell if the wound was to his chest or his shoulder or his arm.

“Tony, deep breaths.  Can you take deep breaths?”

Tony was quiet enough for a moment that Bruce thought he was trying.  He couldn’t hear the tell-tale whistle of a sucking chest wound, but he also couldn’t assess the wound properly from where he was.

“Just hold on.  I’m going to help you, just give me a second,” Bruce said as calmly as he could.

Bruce shifted his way onto his knees so his shoulders were free.  Rotating his elbows, he tried to twist his wrists towards each other, but the cable tie was too tight.  He winced at the pressure of the sharp plastic edge; if he broke the skin and bled, Tony and anyone else who entered the room would be exposed to possible radiation poisoning.  He made a mental note to try to miniaturize a hazmat kit when they got back to the lab—for next time.  Still, he was able to work his wrists around just enough so that he could rock backwards and slip his bound hands around his hips.  His legs caught and he grunted softly as he pulled first one, then the other ankle through the circle of his arms. 

Tony looked at him with flying-saucer eyes.  “What yoga position is that?”

“Escaping Tortoise,” Bruce said.  “Now be quiet, Tony.  Save your oxygen.”

Now that his hands were in front of him, Bruce used his teeth to slide the cable tie around so that the catch was directly between his two hands.  In one sharp movement, he brought his elbows straight back and flexed his abs.  The cable tie snapped, and the little square catch ricocheted off the concrete floor and bounced off Tony’s cheek. 

“Good job, David Copperfield,” Tony gasped.

Bruce was by Tony’s side in an instant.  Tony cried out as Bruce pushed the ruined suit jacket off his shoulders to see the skin beneath.  Blood obscured the entry wound, but from what Bruce could see, it was through his shoulder.

“I’m going to sit you up, Tony.  Just breathe, ok?”

Tony bit back a scream as Bruce lifted him up with one hand on his back and the other on his opposite shoulder.  From this angle, Bruce could see the exit wound; the bullet went clean through Tony’s right shoulder, too far to the side to endanger his heart and close to his clavicle—which was probably broken.  His shoulder blade must be damaged, too, but at least it had missed his lungs.  Bruce sighed with relief. 

“I think it’s through your shoulder.  I have to stop the bleeding, but I need to get you free.”

“Where’s Excalibur when you need him, huh?” Tony said, but his voice was weak with pain.

Bruce patted down his pockets, but the multitool was gone.  So was his wallet—thank God he didn’t carry his ID in his wallet—and his phone.  JARVIS would delete the information on the phone if anyone managed to unlock it, so he wasn’t worried about it.  But the multitool…Clint would be so disappointed to hear he had lost it.

“I don’t have it,” Bruce admitted. “They didn’t leave me anything but my watch and my glasses.”

But he could work with that.  Bruce took off the watch.  The band was simple leather with a gold buckle, but the metal was strong.

“I know it hurts, but can you lean forward?” Bruce said.  “I need to get to your hands.”

Tony winced and bit his lip, but he hunched over as far as he could.  Bruce squeezed his hands and took the little metal prong of the buckle and wedged it into the plastic catch of the zip-tie.  With one quick movement, he forced it through; though the shock of it traveled up Tony’s arm and made him cry out again, the catch broke and Bruce could gently pull the tie free.

“So,” Bruce said as he slowly brought Tony’s arm around to his front, “what’s this about files?”

Tony groaned as his injured arm was moved.  Tears leaked from his eyes.  “I stole Ross’s files.  All of them.  And then I razed his servers to the ground.  That shitty little picture is probably the only thing he has left, and God knows where he found that.”  Tony picked up the blood-soaked photo with his left hand.  “This looks nothing like you.  No wonder they didn’t know who you are.”  He flicked it across the room.

As Tony talked, Bruce worked off his suit jacket and ripped off the sleeves to make a compress.  It took him longer than he would like because the stitching was strong—it really was a great jacket.  He pressed the cloth hard against the wound, and Tony whimpered a little, but didn’t fight him.

“Yeah, but Ross _will_ as soon as he gets here.  And I’m not a trauma surgeon.  You need help.”

“I thought you were a doctor.”

“I’m not that kind of doctor.”

But he did know enough to try to keep Tony from going into shock.  He took off his own jacket and draped it around Tony’s shoulders to keep him warm.  The wound was bleeding, but not enough for Bruce to suspect that the bullet had hit an artery.  Lightning Bolts didn’t look very bright, but he was a smart enough shot that the wound caused Tony a lot of pain, but it wasn’t life-threatening—if they managed to get it treated in a reasonable amount of time.  Just to make sure, he strapped his watch to Tony’s wrist so JARVIS could read his vitals: blood pressure low, heart rate elevated, temperature rising, breathing labored, oxygen saturation low…but he was ok for now.

“Tony,” Bruce said, voice pitched low, “I have to go and figure out a way out of here.  We can’t wait for Ross.  And if those guys are smart enough to send my picture to him while he’s en route, then there’s a good chance neither one of us is going to see daylight for a very long time.”

“What about the Big Guy? He can bust us out of here.”

“I’m trying, but the drugs aren’t helping.  I can gamble that they’ll wear off in time, but that’s a big risk.  I can get us out of here.  I just need to find the way out first, ok?”

Tony grimaced.  “I don’t like the idea of you going alone.”

Bruce smiled and tapped the glasses.  “I won’t be alone.  I have JARVIS.”

Tony nodded.  He looked faint, and his eyes were losing focus. 

“Just lie down and stay still, ok?” Bruce continued.  “You need to save your strength for when we move.”  He eased Tony down onto his uninjured side and smoothed the suit jacket over him.  “If they come back, just pretend you’re passed out, ok?  You don’t know where I’ve gone.  You were passed out and I just wasn’t here.  Can you do that?”

“Fake being asleep?  Yeah, sure, I fake being awake all the time.”  Tony gave him an uneasy smile.

Bruce chuckled.  “Exactly.  I won’t be long, I promise.”

“Ok,” Tony said.  “Just…Bruce…if you can get away and you can’t get back…well, I know you’ll come back for me.  Get the rest of the team and you’ll find me.  Just don’t let Ross get you.  No matter what.”

Bruce had to press his lips tightly for a second to keep himself from saying something stupid.  There wasn’t any time for that now.

“That’s not going to happen,” he said.

And then he left Tony on the floor and went over to the locked door.  He lowered himself down flat on his stomach to peer under the door to see shadows shifting in the hall beyond.  He pressed an ear to the floor to listen for footsteps.  It sounded like there was only one guard outside.

Bruce stood up and started pounding on the door. 

“Help!” he yelled.  “Mr. Stark is _dying_!  The bullet nicked the brachial artery and he’s bleeding out!  I need a tourniquet!”

Bruce stepped to the side as the door clicked and swung open.  He didn’t give the guard a chance to respond before he punched him—not in the jaw, Cap taught him, or else he’d break his hand.  No, if you want to knock a guy out on the first punch, you aimed for the throat.

And the guy crumpled to the ground in an ungainly pile.  Bruce stuck his foot in the door to keep it from closing and dragged the unconscious soldier into the room.

“Holy shit, Bruce!  I didn’t know you could do that!”

“Keep it down, Tony, or else everyone else will know it, too.  Steve will be happy to hear that his lessons weren’t totally wasted.”

Bruce took the soldier’s cap and wedged it into the door so that it wouldn’t lock on him, and then pulled the guy further into the room by his vest.  He went through the soldier’s pockets—Bruce took his knife, his comm link, and his rifle.  The soldier had zip-ties, too, so Bruce tied his hands and ankles and gagged him before handing the rifle over to Tony.

“You need this,” Tony said.

Bruce raised an eyebrow.  “Uh…I’d rather not try to shoot my way out.  Anyway, it’ll be a lot easier to keep him quiet when he wakes up if you put his own gun in his face,” Bruce said, indicating the bound man.

With one glance back at Tony, Bruce slipped on the soldier’s jacket, took the cap out of the door and disappeared into the hallway.

****

The comm link buzzed and crackled in Bruce’s ear, but so far he didn’t hear anything that indicated that someone suspected him gone.  He walked through the hallways with his eyes straight ahead, cap pulled down across his face.  Half of the secret to blending in, he knew, was to simply pretend like you had every right to be there, but the comm link helped him avoid anyone who might see him.

They seemed to be in a large, labyrinthine underground compound.  JARVIS didn’t have the capacity or range to hack their system to find a map, but the glasses’ infrared camera could detect the heat signatures of people, and rooms behind walls, so Bruce had at least a little sense of what was ahead of him.  He tried to work systematically, sticking to the shadows while slowly following the flow of traffic.  He was starting to get nervous that he wouldn’t find the way back, though.

Suddenly, JARVIS was in his ear.  “Dr. Banner, I have located the Mark V.  It seems to be a few doors down from our current location.”

Bruce paused to consider.  He could try to get the suitcase to Tony, but it would surely be guarded.  And Tony would not be able to operate the suit with his mangled arm.  Still, the idea of leaving any of Tony’s tech behind—especially an Iron Man suit—for Ross to have made Bruce feel sick.  He had to at least try to get Tony’s suit back.

“Ok, JARVIS, let’s go get it.  I need you to give me all the info you can, though, as soon as you can.  There’s no way it’s just left in the open.”

“Of course, Doctor Banner.”

Bruce turned down the hallway.  He passed one guard coming his way, but he was far more interested in the unlit cigarette he turned over and over in his hands than in Bruce.  Probably on his way for a smoke break, Bruce mused.  And then two figures appeared on his infrared display, around the next corner, standing in front of a door.  A blue blip on his glasses’ display showed that the Mark V was behind that door.

Bruce took a deep breath.  He reached back into his memory for everything that Clint and Natasha and Steve had taught him.  It was Clint’s voice that he heard first.

“Doc,” Clint had told him once when he had managed to evade the a particular sneaky blow, “no matter how many times I look at you, all I ever see is this nerdy little guy, even when I _know_ that you’re not.  I underestimate you.  Everyone will _always_ underestimate you.  Use that.”

Bruce stepped around the corner.

“Uh…” he said.  “I was looking for the bathroom?”

Two machine guns were immediately trained on him. 

“What the fuck!  Where did you come from?” one of the soldiers yelled.  Bruce’s eyes followed up the muzzle of the gun to the lightning-bolt-tattooed arms that held it.  Fuck.

The hallway was narrow.  Bruce backed up against the wall, hands held up.  “Hey, hey now, guys, I was just looking for the can.”

The muzzle of a gun pressed against his gut.  The soldier behind him reached for his comm.

“Get the fuck back—“

Before he could finish his thought, Bruce grabbed the muzzle of the gun and pulled hard, ducking under and around the soldier.  He pushed hard on the man’s back so that he ran head-first into the wall with a sickening crack.  With his forward momentum, he drove into the other soldier with his shoulders, slamming him against the opposite wall.  The man fell to the ground with a groan and scrambled for his gun, but the movement was cut off by Bruce’s foot across throat.  Bruce slowly reached down and picked up the gun, then slammed the butt of the rifle against the man’s temple. 

He only had a few seconds before they woke, so he rifled through their pockets for zip-ties and bound their arms and legs.  He gagged them, too, and propped them against the hallway wall.  The slung one rifle over his shoulder and kicked the other down the hall.  He came up with another knife, some family photos, another copy of the crappy picture of himself, and, tucked into Lightning Bolt’s tactical vest, his multitool.

Hell yes.  Excalibur.  Now he could face Clint when he got home.

Lightning Bolts groaned and shifted, so Bruce hit him again, just for good measure.  Then, he turned his attention to the lock on the door.  It was a simple key-card lock, so he pulled the ID out of the soldier’s pocket and swiped it open.

The door slid open to reveal a cavernous room, dark and eerily quiet.  There, in plain sight, was the Mark V suitcase just inside the door.

And, stacked up to the vaulted ceiling and stretching as far back as he could see in the gloom, was a stockpile of Hulkbuster munitions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And thanks for all the awesome comments and support. I do a little happy dance every time I read a comment.


	35. Chapter 34: Smokescreen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been forty minutes, and Tony's getting worried.

Fire coursed up and down Tony’s right arm, spreading outward from his shoulder, up his neck and down across his ribs.  Any movement sent shockwaves of pain into his chest, which made it harder than ever to breathe.  He managed to half-crawl over to the wall and claw his way up it so that he could sit up.  That was better, but he couldn’t hold the rifle with his right hand, so he had to get it up under his left side so he could hold it across his lap and aim it at the bound guard.  It was an awkward position, and his already sore body protested, but he would rather be in pain than risk this guy raising hell and alerting anyone else to Bruce’s departure—if he ever woke up.

Bruce had really laid him out.  The uneven rise and fall of his chest assured Tony that he wasn’t dead, but the soldier was having trouble breathing.  Well, don’t dish it out of you can’t take it, thought Tony.  He was more worried about Bruce’s reaction if the guy died on him.  If the soldier did die, Tony figured he’d just shoot him in the head and tell Bruce he did it.  As far as he could tell, Bruce—vegetarian, yogi, sweetheart Bruce—had never taken a life before. Oh sure, the Other Guy probably caused a few deaths, but there was a reason Bruce referred to him as “the Other Guy.”  But Tony…Tony was a different story.  Sure, he had killed, and no, he didn’t particularly regret it, but there was no way in hell that he wanted Bruce to know what _that_ felt like.

But fuck, his shoulder hurt.  And Bruce sure was taking a long time. 

Tony looked down at the watch strapped to his wrist.  He wished he had thought to make it into a two-way comm.  That would be useful right now.  And maybe add a laser cutter, too, though he would have to use a bigger power source than a lithium battery.  His head was too fuzzy to try to do the math now, and that was saying more about his mental condition and the strength of the drugs than anything else. 

40 minutes, according to the watch.  40 minutes had passed since Bruce left out the door.  Between the sedatives still coursing through what blood he had left, the pain, and the adrenaline crash, it was difficult to stay alert.  But Tony kept his attention divided between the door and the unconscious man in front of him as well as he could.

Tony wasn’t sure how much more time passed—ten, maybe fifteen minutes, maybe more—before the electronic lock on the door clicked open.  Tony shoved the rifle underneath him and slumped over in a pretense of unconsciousness.  It wouldn’t work for long, but maybe he would be able to tell how many he was up against before he was forced to react.  By the sound of the footsteps, it was only one soldier.  Something heavy thudded onto the floor.

“Tony!” Bruce called, panic edging his voice higher.

Tony snapped up too quickly and his bitten-back scream came out as a low groan.  “Bruuuuuce,” he said.  “Are you ok?”

Bruce slid to his knees in front of him, pressing his fingers against the artery in his neck, even though he could probably read his vitals on the glasses—oh hey, where were Bruce’s glasses?

“Where are your glasses?” Tony slurred.

Bruce was checking underneath the compress to assess the bleeding.  It wasn’t so bad; though his arm and his side were soaked in crimson, it had slowed quite a bit. 

“I had to dismantle them.  I needed a remote detonator, but don’t worry, I removed JARVIS’s chip set first.  Tony, there’s a huge store of Hulkbusters on the other side of the compound.  I guess that’s what they were moving on those trucks.  So I set up a few on a remote,” Bruce tapped the watch on Tony’s wrist, “and we’re going to blow the whole place.”

“You rewired my bombs?”

“Yeah.  Well, a few, but it should start a chain reaction.  I just hope everyone can get out in time.”

“Fuck these fuckers.  Let them go down with their ship.”

Bruce smoothed the hair away from his eyes and pulled a second camouflage hat out of his jacket and over Tony’s hair.  “Yeah, well, I’m hoping that everyone can evacuate, and we can just join the crowd and get the hell out of here.  I couldn’t find the exit, but I figure there has to be emergency procedures in place and an evacuation route.  If we’re lucky, no one will see us in the confusion and we’ll be gone by the time they come for their prisoners.”

Bruce stood and took off the BDU jacket he was wearing.  He had it layered over a second jacket, and he draped the extra one over Tony’s shoulders.  Carefully, he worked his left arm through the sleeve.  Bruce took off Tony’s tie and used it as a make-shift sling for his arm.  The strip of material was too thin to be comfortable, but it gave him a little support.

“Let’s get you on your feet, ok?” Bruce said, softly but urgently.

Bruce put one arm around his waist and another underneath his left shoulder.  He heaved upward, lifting Tony up with him.  The pull of gravity on his right side was agony, and the change in position made his vision grey out for a second.  But Bruce held him steady until he could see clearly and he gave Bruce a pat on the arm to reassure him.

Bruce buttoned up Tony’s jacket, then his own, and ducked under Tony’s left arm.  Hopefully, anyone who saw them would assume Tony’s injuries were from the blast.

Bruce cast one look at the bound, unconscious soldier on the floor behind them.  Tony could see the uncertainty in his eyes, and he knew what Bruce would do.

“Hold on,” Bruce said.

He leaned Tony against the wall, which was good because Tony wasn’t too sure he would be able to get up again if he sat down.  Then Bruce took the multitool out of his pocket—where did he find that?—and sliced through the zip-ties binding the soldier’s hands and feet.

Bruce picked up the Mark V from where he left it on the floor before shouldering most of Tony’s weight again.  Tony gave Bruce a pointed look.

“At least he has a chance now,” Bruce said quietly.  “Ready to go?”

“Someone might recognize _that,”_ Tony replied, nodding towards the briefcase.

Bruce huffed.  “Then don’t paint it red and gold next time if you’re going for subtlety.  If you wouldn’t give me up to Ross, there’s no way I’m leaving Iron Man behind.”

Tony tried to smile, but fuck, even that hurt and it turned into a grimace instead. 

“Ok, let’s blow this taco stand.”

Bruce edged them towards the door and then reached up to Tony’s wrist and hit the time-set button on the watch.

The first explosion echoed like the distant boom of a thunderstorm.  The overhead fluorescent lights failed and they were left in darkness for a second before a siren wailed and red emergency lights flickered on.  Bruce used a key card to swipe the door open and the faint smell of smoke drifted towards them in the darkness, but it was quiet.   Bruce dragged Tony behind him as he took off down the hallway.  From the look of the place, it wasn’t a detention block, so there was limited security.  Tony allowed himself only a moment to be insulted by the fact he had been locked in what was probably an empty store room before he had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. 

Bruce seemed to know where he was going, and they turned a corner into a main hallway, thick with smoke and soldiers scrambling to evacuate.  Another explosion, much larger and louder, rocked the floor beneath them, and Bruce tightened his grip around Tony’s waist.  Then, Tony’s world was spun around on its axis as a whole series of explosions, each one larger than the last, shook the walls and the floors, and then everyone was running to get out.  Bruce kept ahold of him, but someone bumped hard into his shoulder, and he was glad that the wail of the sirens masked his cries.

They followed the flow of the crowd, and it was so dark and smoky and chaotic that no one even looked twice at them.  Then Bruce was hauling him up a stairwell, two, three, four floors and he felt like he was going to pass out before they ever reached the top; but then they were stumbling out into heat and sunlight with a few dozen others, scattering like ants flushed out of a hive.

Looking over his shoulder, Tony saw low warehouses swallowed up in flames, soldiers fleeing from every exit.  The stores were underground, but the force of the explosions must have blasted up through the ground.  He didn’t have a lot of time for analysis, though, because Bruce was still running, away from the crowd this time, making a bee-line for a small motor pool.

There were a few other soldiers there, jumping into vehicles, and Bruce tried two before he found an old drab brown pickup truck with an unlocked door.  He shoved the Mark V in out of sight first before helping Tony into the passenger seat. 

“Get down, Tony,” Bruce said, shoving him down flat on the bench seat.  “They’ll recognize you if they see you.”

Lying down was just fine for Tony because the dizziness of blood loss was taking its toll, and his lungs burned full of smoke, and his chest felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it.

Bruce gave a cursory glance through the glove box for keys, but he didn’t waste any more time looking when it came up empty.  He lifted his hips up off the seat to get the multitool out of his pocket, then flipped it open and used it pry off the access cover to the drive shaft.  Quicker than Tony himself could probably do it, Bruce stripped the primary power wire and the power wire to the ignition switch and twisted them together.  He stripped the ignition switch and touched it lightly to the two wires and revved the engine before using the screwdriver attachment to snap the lock pins in the steering wheel.

Yeah, of course Bruce knew how to hotwire a car. 

And then they were driving away from the noise and the confusion while Ross’s crappy little desert base burned to the ground behind them.

Bruce’s arm came to rest across Tony’s ribs, pulling him closer so that Tony’s head was resting in Bruce’s lap. 

“I don’t think anyone’s coming after us,” Bruce said, glancing in the rear view mirror.  “I don’t think they know we’re gone.”

Tony nodded against Bruce’s lap.  “Can I pass out now?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

So Tony let himself tumble into the welcoming darkness.

****

“Tony.” Someone was lightly touching the side of his face, stroking down his cheek and scratching through his goatee.  It felt wonderful.  “Tony, you need to wake up, Tony.”

And then his arm was afire, pain radiating down his shoulder and up his neck and spreading all across his right side.  Even moving his head make the ache intensify, and when he tried to shift, he could feel blood drying stiff on his clothes.

He opened his eyes and Bruce was looking down at him in concern, glancing quickly between his face and the road. 

“You with me, Tony?” His voice betrayed his worry and exhaustion.

“Yeah,” Tony whispered.

They were still in the truck, and it felt like they were driving very fast.  The sun was low on the horizon, lighting the sky in translucent orange and gold.  Suddenly, all the pain and fear and uncertainty washed over Tony like the beach waves, tumbling him over and under until he didn’t know which was up.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Tony said.

Bruce looked down and Tony must have looked terrible because he immediately pulled over and shifted the car into park.  As quickly and gently as he could, he reached over Tony and popped open the passenger car door, and helped him flop over so that he was leaning over the seat, just in time for Tony to vomit all over the side of the road.  Well, it was mostly pathetic dry-heaving since they hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since breakfast, but Tony’s stomach didn’t seem to know that as it kept trying to empty itself into the dirt.  Bruce held him steady, taking his weight off his injured shoulder by putting an arm around his chest and using his other hand to press between his shoulder blades, trying to absorb the shock from the violent retching.

When he felt like he was done he pushed a little against the car seat, and Bruce took it as a signal to pull him inside, close the door, and keep driving.

“I’m sorry, Tony.  I don’t even have any water for you.”

Tony mumbled something which he meant to be reassuring, but it came out more as a pained whimper.

“We’ve got to get rid of this truck,” Bruce continued.  “It’s a Friday night, so I’m hoping there’s a bus station or something in the next town, and we can leave it there and get to some place to call the Tower for a pickup.  But it’s going to take them a couple of hours to get to us, so we need to find somewhere safe to hole up for a little bit, ok?”

Tony nodded, burying his face deeper into Bruce’s lap.  He smelled like smoke and blood, but he was warm and solid, and the hand that rested on his waist was so unmistakably _Bruce_ that he felt better.  He tried not to fall asleep, and it wasn’t long before the car rolled to a stop.

“We just passed a bus, Tony.  Let’s leave the truck here, ok?”

“Ok,” Tony managed to answer.

He was feeling weak and shaky, and, yeah, that was probably shock and blood loss talking, or in his case, keeping him quiet.

“Let’s leave these jackets here, ok?  We don’t need them anymore, and it’ll just attract attention,” Bruce said.

Cutting the jacket off was easier than trying to move any more than he had to, so he let Bruce work the multitool’s knife up the arm and slice the material away.  He still had Bruce’s suit jacket on underneath, and it was bloody, but the dark material hid some of it, and it would be less noticeable as the sun continued to set.  Bruce shucked off his jacket, too, and balled them both up and shoved them under the seat of the car.  Then, Bruce used the little knife on the multitool to cut open the waistband of his dress slacks and he pulled out several neatly rolled twenty dollar bills.

Tony must have looked aghast because Bruce smiled a little sheepishly.  “I learned a while ago that it was a good idea to sew some cash into my pants in case of an…incident.  The hard part is when I wake up without pants.”

“Depends on the context,” Tony said though he could muster only a hint of his charm.  But Bruce smiled a little more, so it was worth the effort.

“With you, it can go either way.  The bus is coming. Let’s go.”

The bus driver looked at their battered appearance with a little suspicion as Bruce first paid (not really caring if he got change or not), then helped Tony into a seat before going back for the red-and-gold suitcase on the curb. 

“Truck’s been breaking down all day,” Bruce muttered as he passed the driver.  “Practically had to push it here in the heat.”

The driver shook his head knowingly, and the sound of the airbrakes disengaging was music to Tony’s ears as they rolled down the street and left the abandoned truck behind.

Most of the other passengers were going either to or from work, or they were teenage kids engrossed in their cell phones.  There was one boy with bright blue stereo headphones and a skateboard who kept looking at them, but it was probably because they looked like they had just escaped a fire or maybe a car accident.

Bruce slid into the seat next to him, keeping the Mark V close against his knees, and put an arm around Tony’s shoulders, careful not to put any weight on his poorly-hidden injury.  Tony let himself fall back against Bruce because he was warm and solid and steady, and he knew that he was safe as he could ever be on public transportation.  Bruce’s arm tightened around him in a gentle squeeze.

“Not much longer, Tony.  Just rest if you can.”

Tony seemed incapable of forming a reply, and he was so very tired.  The last thought he had before succumbing again to unconsciousness was of Bruce, softly kissing the top of his head and telling him that everything would be alright.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the comments and feedback! Tony and Bruce sure do need some reassurance right now, so they're grateful, too!


	36. Chapter 35: Motel Room Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Bruce hole up in a motel and wait.

 

The bus lumbered along in the darkness, headed towards the edge of town.  It was a longer ride than Bruce would have liked.  Tony was heavy against his shoulder, nothing but exhausted dead weight, and Bruce held him tighter around the waist to try and keep him from being jarred by the rumbling bounce of the bus over cracked roads.  Despite the air-conditioning, sweat beaded on Tony’s pale forehead and Bruce could feel the heat radiating from his skin.  Not enough time had passed yet for serious infection to set in, so he hoped his fever was from stress and exhaustion and probably dehydration.  He could fix some of that with just a quiet, cool place to rest and some ice water.  Still, it was unnerving how still and quiet the usually rambunctious engineer was.

Finally, on the very outskirts of the town, Bruce saw what he had been looking for: off in the distance, the neon sign of a small local hotel.  He tugged on the cord above the window to signal for the next stop, and the driver turned in his seat to glance back at Bruce and Tony.

“Hey, buddy, you look like you’ve been through the wringer.  Where are you headed?  I’ll drop you as close as I can,” the driver offered.

“That motel up ahead.  We just need a place to crash and figure things out.”

“Oh, ok.  No problem then.”

Bruce nudged Tony awake.  He growled a little under his breath and his eyebrows drew together as he winced in pain.  His shoulder had probably stiffened during the ride and moving was going to be painful.

“Tony,” Bruce whispered in his ear, “we have to get off the bus now, ok?  Then we can call Steve and the others to come get us.”

His eyes cracked open and Bruce was dismayed at the lost, scared expression he saw in them.  It took a few seconds before the words sank in; Tony was definitely feeling the shock and blood loss if it took him that long to understand.

The bus rolled to a stop with the squeal of air brakes, and the door hissed open.  The driver watched them through the rear-view mirror with interest, and when Tony stumbled as he stood, he was out of his seat and down the aisle to offer a hand.  Tony shied away, almost cringing from the stranger’s hand, so Bruce turned a little to shield him from view.

“Ah, sorry…but thanks for your help.”

“Yeah, man, no problem,” the bus driver said, not particularly insulted by Tony’s behavior.  “Let me get your suitcase at least.”  The weight of the suitcase surprised him, but he was still intent on getting it down the stairs for him.  Bruce was grateful because Tony’s coordination was pretty terrible and it took both hands to guide him down the few steep steps.  “Oh man, what d’ya got in here?” the driver joked.

“Stolen pirate gold,” Bruce said with a lopsided smile.

The bus driver laughed and left it on the curb.  “Ok, well that explains a lot.  Take care of yourselves.”  He remounted the steps and the bus pulled away with a long squeak.

The motel was an old, stucco, one-story building with a main office and a U of rooms surrounding an empty parking lot.  The neon “vacancy” sign flickered with yellow and orange and red.  It was quite a bit off the main street, so Bruce could imagine that they didn’t see much traffic.  Most travelers would head towards the Best Western off the highway, or probably skip the little desert town altogether in favor of a decent-sized city.

Bruce picked up the briefcase with one hand and guided Tony towards the door with the other.  Tony woke up enough to dubiously eye the peeling paint and the moths buzzing around the sodium lights.

“Great.  The Bates Fucking Motel.  I wonder how many Michelin Stars this placed earned in the Pennysaver.”

“Hush, Tony.  It’s just for a few hours.  You need to lie down.”

Tony didn’t have anything to say about that, but his weight against Bruce’s side was answer enough.

There was a vinyl chair just inside the door, and Bruce dumped Tony into it and set the briefcase against his feet.  The lobby was decorated with late-80’s gold and dusky rose that may have once been pink. 

Bruce rang the bell on the counter.  He waited a few minutes before a young girl—maybe seventeen, maybe nineteen—appeared from a back room.  She had dark hair and dark eyes, and smelled like nail polish.

“Uh…hi,” Bruce said.

“Hi,” she answered.  “Do you need directions?”

“No, no, I was wondering if you had a room.”

She snorted.  “Yeah, you want to stay here?  Sure.  I just need your ID.”

Bruce made a show of patting down his pockets.  “Well, you see, that’s the problem.  I seemed to have lost my wallet…”

The girl rolled her eyes

“…but I have cash,” Bruce continued, taking his small store of bills out of his pockets. “I just don’t have an ID to show you.  But we’re only staying the night?”

The girl’s demeanor changed once she realized she had an actual paying customer on her hands.  She glanced over to Tony, hunched over on the chair by the door, his pants and shirt torn and dirty, hair greasy and lank, wearing Bruce’s suit jacket half-draped over him like a cape.

“Yeah, no problem.  That sucks.  What happened to you two, anyway?”

Bruce glanced back at Tony.  “Uh…crazy bachelor party?”

“Wow,” the girl said.  “Must have been some party.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“Hey, Valerie, who are you talking to?” a deep voice shouted from the back room.

The girl made a face and turned around to yell back, “It’s a customer!”

“Bull-shit!” the voice shouted in return.

The girl rolled her eyes again, but smiled fondly.  “My dad,” she explained.  “Ok, so it’ll be $45 for the room,” she said as she took a key from a drawer.  “And check-out is whenever you want before dark tomorrow.” She took out a contract and a pen.  “Just sign here.”

Bruce did, signing “David Bates” this time because it was the first name to pop into his head.

“There’s no pool or WiFi, but the rooms have AC units and there’s an ice machine around the corner.”

“Ok, that should be fine,” Bruce said.  He needed to get Tony to a bed soon. It looked like he was having trouble staying upright in the chair.

She watched him with curious eyes as he collected Tony and the briefcase and head out the door.

The room was close, and Tony managed to lean up against the wall as Bruce unlocked the door.  Two double beds were separated by a single nightstand.  There was an old brown TV, a small bathroom with a cracked fiberglass sink, and a lamp with a dark rose shade.  It was nicer than a great deal of the places Bruce had been forced to stay while on the run, but he wondered if Tony had ever stepped foot in such a room in his entire life.

By the look on Tony’s face, the answer was no.

Still, when he collapsed on the nearest bed, the look of derision turned to absolute relief.  Bruce helped him get his feet up onto the bed and propped him up with all the pillows he could find.

“I’m gonna call Steve and then I’m going to get you more comfortable.”

“It’s ok…” Tony said, but his voice was faint.  “I’ll be ok…”

Bruce cast a worried look at him as he sat on the opposite bed and picked up the phone.  He dialed the complicated number that would connect him to JARVIS’s secure server—which Tony had made him memorize as soon as he moved into the Tower in fear that Bruce would be out in the world alone and need help.

“JARVIS,” Bruce said as soon as the recorded Thank You For Calling Stark Industries message finished.

“Doctor Banner?  I do not recognize the number you are calling from.  How can I help you?”

“I need you to get Steve for me, wherever he is, and save these coordinates.  Tony’s hurt.  Not too badly, but we need help as soon as you can get someone out here.”

“I will relay your message immediately, Doctor Banner.  While we wait for Captain Roger’s response, would you care to expand on your current circumstances?”

“Not right now, JARVIS, but I have a chipset to upload when we see you that will tell you everything.”

“Very well, Doctor. Here is Captain Rogers.”

“Bruce?” Steve’s voice, calm, urgent, but infinitely reassuring, lifted a weight from Bruce’s shoulders that he hadn’t realized he was carrying.  “JARVIS says you’re in trouble.”

“Yeah, well, we were, but I think we still are.  We’re in a hotel somewhere near…29 Palms, I think?  I’m not sure.  But Tony’s been shot, and we need a medical transport here as soon as you can get it.”

“Tony?  How bad is it?”

“Uh,” Bruce glanced over to the bed.  “Not as bad as it could be, but get here fast, ok?  JARVIS has the coordinates.”

“Clint’s at SHIELD, and JARVIS is on the other line with him.  We’ll be there as fast as that bird can fly.”

“Ok, good.  I’ll call you if there’s a change or we have to leave or something, but we have the Mark V on us, so JARVIS can track it if we can’t call for some reason.” 

“Roger that.  And…Bruce?  What about you?  Are you ok?”

Bruce let out a breath in one big whoosh.  “Yeah, Steve, I’m ok.  I’ll be ok.”

“We’ll be there soon.”  And the line clicked dead.

Bruce set the phone back down on the bedside table.  His hands were shaking.  In the rush to escape, he hadn’t let himself think about how very he was to becoming Ross’s prisoner—his _property_ —once again.  And he was out there, somewhere close.  Hopefully he was too busy with sorting through the remains of his base to come hunting for Bruce and Tony, but then again, he could be searching furiously, fueled by his incessant need for revenge.

Tony watched with wide eyes as Bruce double-checked the door lock and pulled the curtains closed.  He went into the bathroom and slid the small window open—it faced the back of the property, and it was narrow, but he was pretty sure that he and Tony could squeeze through it in an emergency.  While he was in the bathroom, he gathered the towels and ran a washcloth under the cold water.  He needed a distraction, and Tony needed as much doctoring as he could muster.

“We’re safe,” Tony said when he appeared by side.  “The Avengers are coming for us, Bruce.  We’re going to be ok.”

Bruce sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, trying to distribute his weight evenly so he didn’t jostle Tony.  “I’m supposed to be comforting _you_ ,” Bruce said.  “Now let’s get a better look at that wound.”

Bruce eased the jacket off Tony’s shoulders and removed the make-shift sling and the compress against his shoulder.  With the help of the multitool, he cut the shirt away from the wound so he could get a good look at it.  A little fresh blood oozed from the wound when the pressure of the cloth was gone, but Bruce quickly pressed a folded hand towel in its place.  It wasn’t sterile by far, but it was a little cleaner.

“The exit wound looks pretty nasty,” Bruce said.  “I think the bullet tore through some bone on its way out.  But it’s going to be fine once we get you to a real doctor.  You’re going to be just fine.”

“Yeah, it’s the same arm I broke in the Mark 1,” Tony said.  He shifted to try to get into a better position, but gave up after a second.  “It’s hot in here,” he said.

Bruce agreed.  He cut a bigger towel into pieces so he could tie the new compress into place then went over to the old AC unit underneath the window.  He set it to max and it grumbled to life.  It smelled a bit like a musty aquarium, but the air that came out was cool. 

 Tony was burning up, so Bruce wiped his face with the wet washcloth, cleaning off grime and smoke and dried blood.  Tony turned his face so Bruce could get the other side, too.  Bruce rinsed the cloth in the sink and then moved down to Tony’s chest, careful to get as much of the sweat and dirt from around the edge of the arc reactor as he could.  The reactor’s strong, clear light was soothing, and it gave Bruce something to focus on, like the candles or the metronome he sometimes used in meditation.  Tony seemed soothed by the gentle motion of the cloth, too, because his breathing started to ease a bit and his eyes drifted closed.

Bruce took off Tony’s shoes and laid them neatly at the foot of the bed.  He loosened his belt, too, and pulled the stiff comforter up to his waist.  Tony looked better: more comfortable, a little cleaner, resting quietly.

Bruce took pride in his professionalism as a doctor, which was one of the reasons Clint and Steve and Natasha could come to him to get stitched up when it wasn’t worth their time to go to SHIELD medical.  It didn’t really bother him to patch up his friends like it did to some people.  He liked the feeling of helping, of being needed.  But this time, with Tony, it was different.  He couldn’t help but think of the horrible consequences Tony might have faced just because he was Bruce’s friend.  Bruce knew he was dangerous, and not just because he could possibly transform in the Hulk and flatten anyone and anything in a 100 mile radius; no, just knowing him was enough to get a person killed.  His hands trembled, and maybe Tony felt it because he covered Bruce’s hand with his left.

“I think you need to lie down, too, Doctor,” Tony said.  His voice was weak, but his grip was like iron.

Bruce shook his head.  “No, I want to be prepared in case we have to leave in a hurry.”

Tony wiggled his toes under the blanket.  “I might need my shoes back on, then.”

Bruce smiled.  “I think we’ll know when they’re near.  There’s not much out here.”

Tony raised an eyebrow.  “Then lie down with me, Brucie.”

“In a minute.  We need some water.”

Bruce collected the yellowing ice bucket (good thing there was a plastic liner for it because it looked like it was older than the motel) but there was a light knock on the door before he could reach it.  Both he and Tony jumped, and Tony swore quietly at the pain of it.

The curtains were closed, so Bruce padded silently up to the door.  He put one hand flat on it, prepared to push back if someone tried to force their way in, and peered through the peek hole.

Valerie, the girl from the lobby, was standing outside.

Bruce sagged in relief.  “It’s the owner’s daughter,” Bruce said.  He turned around to see Tony already half out of bed, shoes in hand.   “I think she’s alone.”

Tony collapsed back onto the bed in relief, swearing again when he bumped his shoulder. He threw his shoes against the bathroom door.

The girl knocked again, and Bruce undid the chain lock and slid the bolt open.  When he opened the door, he saw that she was holding a tray.

“Oh, hey, I thought maybe you were asleep already?” she said.  She made no motion to come into the room.  “There’s…uh…there’s nowhere to really eat around here, and I saw you didn’t have a car, so I was making dinner, and I wondered if maybe you were hungry?”

Bruce could have kissed her.  He tried to take the tray from her, but he was still holding the empty ice bucket, so he juggled it awkwardly.

“I’ll get that for you,” she said, trading him the tray for the bucket smoothly.  She disappeared around the corner of the building, giving him a chance to set the tray down next to the TV.  There was the grinding sound of the ice machine before she reappeared, thrusting the bucket towards him. 

“Thank you, Valerie,” Bruce said sincerely.

“Just leave the tray in the room when you leave,” she said with a shy smile.  “We don’t get a lot of people out here, so…uh…yeah.”

And then she was gone.

Bruce relocked the door before turned to see Tony back in bed, leaning against the pillows.  He scooped some ice into a cup and set it by his left hand before investigating the tray.  There was soup, tomato by the looks of it, and a plate of cheese sandwiches.  Bruce’s stomach grumbled at the sight, but he worried about Tony.

“Do you think you could eat?” he asked him.  “I think you’re going to need surgery when we get back, but that’s not for a while, so the soup should be ok.”

Tony looked pale at the mention of food.  He and sedatives never got along at the best of times, and  combined with the stress and pain, his appetite had probably taken a tumble.

But then an impish smile flickered on his face.  “Depends.  Are you going to lie down and feed it to me like a good little nurse should?”

Bruce smiled.  Yeah, he shouldn’t underestimate Tony’s tolerance for unfortunate events.  “I could do that.”

So Bruce set the tray on the bed and flicked through the TV channels until Tony said “Oh, look, Dog Cops.”  He didn’t recognize the show, but he stopped and set down the remote.  He carefully lowered himself down on the bed and Tony flopped over so he was lying mostly against his chest, shoulder supported by the mound of flattened pillows. 

Bruce spoon-fed Tony the soup, and Tony played along for a little bit before he started refusing by burying his face into Bruce’s shirt like a recalcitrant child.  Bruce finished what he didn’t eat and leaned over to slide the tray onto the opposite bed.  He had better luck with feeding Tony the ice chips, and he seemed to take some pleasure in rolling them around in his mouth.  His skin was still too warm, so Bruce took one of the larger pieces of ice and traced it around his forehead, down his neck and across his chest.  That earned him a moan of pleasure, and Tony pressed deeper against him, watching the TV with half-lidded eyes.

They rested together for a long while, watching the Dog Cops marathon and trying not to jump every time a car passed.

 “This isn’t so bad,” Tony said.

That got a laugh out of Bruce.  “Really?” He took an exaggerated look around the room, letting his eyes rest on Tony last.  “What’s not so bad about this?”

Tony tried to shrug with one shoulder, but he didn’t really manage it.  “I don’t know.  You.  Me.  In bed, relaxing.  Watching TV.  It’s very…normal.  I mean, I wanted to take you out somewhere nice for dinner, go golfing, something like that, but this isn’t too bad.”

“I’m glad you think so, Tony.”

 “I’m sorry,” Tony said suddenly, the tone of his voice dropping to a pained whisper.  “All of this…it’s all my fault.”

Bruce inhaled sharply.  “No, you have that totally backwards.  I think this is all _my_ fault.  There’s no way Ross would ever be after you if we weren’t friends.”

“He’s not after me, though.  He’s after you.  And that’s just not ok.”

Bruce didn’t reply.  The fact that Tony had stolen all of Ross’s files hadn’t really sunk in yet.  He didn’t give himself a chance to process it before, and now it was all he could think about.

“Tony,” Bruce said very quietly, “why did you take those files?  What were you looking for?”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut, but otherwise didn’t move.  “I wanted to know more about you, so I went digging.  Then...what I found…Bruce, I wasn’t thinking.  I just knew that Ross had no right to own that part of you.”

Bruce went very still.  “It doesn’t matter, Tony, don’t you see?  It’s not like deleting a file will delete the fact that it happened.  All it did was give him a reason to come after _you.”_

“Bruce!” Tony said loudly, but then he fell silent as if startle by the vehemence in his own voice.  “Bruce,” he said, quieter, “it does matter.  It matters more than so many other things.”

“Why?  It doesn’t matter to me.”

“I did it because I love you, Bruce.  I don’t think I even knew it back then, but that’s why.  I couldn’t stand the thought of that…that MONSTER and what he did to you, and I’m never going to let him do that to you again.  I swear it!”

Bruce couldn’t believe what Tony had just said.  He what? Why would he…?  He sagged back against the headrest.

“Hush, Tony, you’re running a fever and you’re in a lot of pain.  Don’t say anything you’ll regret later, ok?  It’s fine.”

“Fever?  Yeah, sure, but that’s not it, Brucie.  Fuck, the only thing I’m going to regret is _not_ saying it sooner.  I should’ve wrote in the Manhattan skyline _ages_ ago.  It’s true.  I love you, Bruce.  I do.  And fuck any fucker who tries to take you away from me.”

Bruce pursed his lips and looked down at the wreck of a man in his lap: bloodied, bruised, drugged, exhausted…yet his eyes were as clear and dark as black coffee.  He could have kissed him.  He could have told him how very much he wanted to believe him.  But all he wanted to do was to protect him by putting as much distance between Tony and himself as the Earth would allow.

“Be quiet, Tony,” Bruce finally managed to say.  “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

A storm like a hurricane brewed in Tony’s eyes, and Bruce could see him mustering his strength to fight.  But, right as Tony was about to reply, a solid hand knocked on the flimsy door in a familiar rat=ta-ta-tat pattern.  Before Bruce could jump up, the door locks clicked open and the chain snapped as Steve leaned his weight against the door.

There, in full uniform, were Captain America, Hawkeye and Black Widow.

“Uh,” Steve said, looking sheepishly at the broken chain, “did someone here call the Avengers?”

****

Tony was loaded onto a gurney and wheeled out to the quinjet parked in the little dirt parking lot.  Bruce gathered the Mark V and checked the room over one last time before following outside.  There, standing in front of the lobby in absolute awe, was Valerie.  Bruce rubbed the back of his neck and smiled at her.  She waved a little, barely a twitch of her fingers, in return.

“Cap,” Bruce called.

Steve was inside the jet, locking the gurney’s struts into place while Clint and Natasha took Tony’s vitals and started an IV drip.  He was down the ramp in two long strides.

“Ready to go, Bruce?” Steve asked.

Bruce nodded towards the young girl, still watching with wide eyes.  “That girl over there…her name’s Valerie.  She kind of took care of us, and, well, do you think you could…?”

Steve smiled and placed a hand on Bruce’s shoulder.  “Sure.”

Bruce watched as Captain America walked over to her, shield low by his side, looking every bit like the hero he was.  He shook her hand and spoke to her.  Bruce was too far away to hear, but he couldn’t mistake the way her eyes widened and her face lit up in a smile.  And then, Steve hugged her, holding her close against his chest for a moment before breaking apart and kissing her hand in farewell. She leaned against the building, and Bruce thought for a moment that she might actually faint.  But she didn’t.  Instead, she looked straight at Bruce and waved, and then disappeared back into the dingy little lobby.

Steve returned to Bruce’s side and guided him up the ramp with an arm around his shoulders.  “Ok?”

“Yeah, Cap, thanks.”

Steve nodded, but then Bruce’s attention was taken by the scurry around Tony’s gurney.  Clint had moved into the pilot’s seat and was preparing for take-off while Natasha clipped an oxygen sat monitor to Tony’s finger and checked the bag of IV fluids hanging above the bed.  Bruce was pushed gently down into a seat and nimble fingers buckled him in.

“Just for take-off, ok?” Steve said when he saw the look of longing that Bruce cast towards Tony’s still form.  “Then you can get up.”

Bruce nodded, and he was grateful for Clint’s efficiency in getting the jet into the air.  The take-off was smooth, and then Steve was unbuckling his seatbelt and he was out of his chair like a shot to check on Tony.

They had done a good job of making Tony comfortable.  Bruce checked the medications running into the IV line and approved of the amount of painkillers, antibiotics, and fluids dripping into Tony’s arm.  He was wrapped in pale blue blankets, which helped disguise how pale he was, and, underneath an oxygen mask, his face was lax with the relief from the pain.  The steady beeping of the monitors was comforting, as was the steady glow of the arc reactor through the blanket. 

Bruce sighed with relief.

Then, a hand was on his shoulder, turning him around a bit.  It was Clint.  He had switched places with Steve, and he guided Bruce over to the opposite side of the jet and into a seat. 

“Bruce, tell me what happened,” Clint said.

Natasha slid silently into the co-pilot’s seat to give them as much privacy as possible. Bruce knew she would hear the entire story later, but it was nice that she made the effort.

With a deep breath, Bruce told Clint the entire story from the checkpoint on the way to Palm Springs to the moment that Steve broke open the motel door.  He knew that since it was Clint and not Steve asking that it was more or less an official SHIELD debrief, but the kindness in Clint’s sharp blue eyes was comforting.  Still, the retelling of the events let Bruce think about them in a way that he hadn’t been able to process at the time, and by the end, he found himself shaking with the need to repress the Other Guy.

Yeah, the sedatives had definitely burned off by now.

Clint didn’t seem too threatened; even though he reached out to steady Bruce’s trembling hands more than once, he didn’t try to stop the flow of words from Bruce’s mouth.  He was pretty sure his eyes were green, too, because Clint’s eyes widened to the size of saucers at one point, and it took a lot to rattle the agent.

“Maybe you should drop me off somewhere out of the way.  Really really out of the way,” Bruce suggested.  He was surprised at how steady his voice was when his insides were clawing their way outside.

But Clint just squeezed his shoulder and rooted around in his tactical vest.  He came up with two pale orange pills and held them out in his palm.

“What are those?” Bruce asked.

“Xanax,” Clint said.

Bruce laughed.  “That’s not going to work.”

Without missing a beat, Clint pulled an arrow from the quiver still strapped to his back.  He broke open the end of the shaft near the head and produced a vial of clear liquid.

“What’s _that?”_

“Xanax.  For dinosaurs.”

Yeah, that might work.  He nodded his assent.

Clint retrieved a syringe from the med kit and loaded the vial.  The kind look returned to his eyes as he took Bruce’s arm.

“You don’t have to take this,” Clint said.  “I want to make that really clear.  We don’t mind being in the jet with you, and we don’t mind taking you somewhere to blow off some steam, either.  We’ll just pick you up after we get Tony to medical.”

Bruce was really trembling now, though he didn’t know if was from the stress of repressing the Other Guy or fear or some other nameless emotion, but he couldn’t speak around the burning lump in his throat.  He nodded again and turned his arm so Clint had better access to the vein.

Clint swiped a spot with an alcohol prep pad and slid the needle under his skin with practiced ease.  He rubbed at the spot to take away the sting like he might have done for a child.

Within seconds, Bruce felt the Other Guy retreat back to his corner of Bruce’s psyche, the chemically-induced calm enough to trick him into thinking the danger had passed. 

Bruce looked over to the gurney where Tony was resting.  Clint followed his sight line and pulled Bruce to his feet.  “Let’s see how he’s doing, ok?” Clint said.

But Bruce’s feet suddenly didn’t want to cooperate, and he stumbled.  Clint caught him, and then Steve was right there, too, leaving the controls to Natasha.

“What happened to Bruce?” Steve’s voice sounded really far away.

“He’s ok.  Just need to calm down a little.  He’s fine, Cap.”

Yeah, he felt pretty fine indeed.  He leaned on the edge of the bed and looked down at Tony.  But Clint moved away, and he couldn’t manage to stay upright very well on his own.

“Steve, get the other side,” Clint said.

He was on the opposite side of the gurney, and he and Steve lowered it down as far as it could go, so it was almost level with the floor.  Then Clint was next to him again, helping Bruce down to the floor slowly so he didn’t fall.

“It’s ok, Bruce.  We only brought the one bed, but here, let’s make you a little nest right next to Tony, ok?” Clint said as he rubbed Bruce’s back. 

Steve took a parachute down from the rack and set it near Bruce’s head so he could lean up a little and see Tony, while Clint took all the blankets he could find and layered them on the floor. 

The commotion of getting Bruce settled woke Tony and he watched in dazed amusement as Bruce was tucked into the mass of blankets.  Tony took the oxygen mask off and pressed it against Bruce’s face.

“No,” Bruce slurred.  “Tony, no, that’s for you.”  But a few deep breaths of pure oxygen did help clear his head a bit, though Steve firmly took the mask out of Tony’s hand and strapped it back onto him. 

“Go to sleep,” Cap commanded.

So they both did.

****

Bruce awoke to hands, holding him down, strapping him to a table.  He tried to scream, but his voice wouldn’t work, and his limbs were too heavy and lethargic to fight back.

Tony?  Where was Tony?

“Hold on, Bruce,” Clint’s voice cut through the fog in his head like an arrow, and quick fingers unsnapped the restraints holding him down.

Hands were on him again, but they were helping him to sit up and turning his legs so that his feet were flat on the floor.  They rubbed his back, up and down, and shook his shoulder a little.

“Open your eyes, Bruce.”

Bruce did.  He was sitting on a gurney in the quinjet.  The ramp was down, and he could see the deck of the helicarrier beyond.  The rising sun poured into the jet’s hold.  Clint was beside him, crouched next to the bed, and Steve stood over him, shading him from the sun’s harshest rays.

“Hey, you ok?”

“Yeah,” Bruce groaned.  He scrubbed his hands over his eyes.  He was dizzy and sleepy, but at least he knew where he was now.

“It’s windy out there,” Steve nodded towards the deck.  “We didn’t want you to fall off the stretcher.  Sorry.  We shouldn’t have strapped you in.”

“It’s ok,” Bruce said.  “Tony?  Where’s Tony?”

“He’s fine.  They took him into surgery.  Natasha is watching over him, so don’t worry.  We just need to get you inside.”

“I can walk,” Bruce insisted.

“Ok,” Clint said, but he didn’t sound too sure.

Between Clint and Steve, they got Bruce to his feet, but his knees buckled as soon as he tried to take a step.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Steve said, and he swept Bruce up into his arms.

Bruce was too tired to protest.  Steve could carry him as if he weighed no more than a bag of flour.  And Steve knew how to tuck his head into his shoulder, as if he had done this before, or maybe he himself had been carried at one point.

Clint tucked a blanket over Bruce and pulled a corner up over his head so that he probably looked like a sack of flour, too.  But Bruce was grateful.  He didn’t want every SHIELD agent they passed to start asking questions or spreading rumors.

“Bucky used to carry me sometimes, usually home after I got myself beat up,” Steve whispered into his ear as they stepped out onto the helicarrier deck.

It _was_ windy, and Bruce was even more grateful for the blanket and the solid warmth of Steve’s chest blocking the wind. 

Steve continued, “But, _after_ , Bucky never let me carry him, even when he needed it.  It means a lot that you let me do this for you, Bruce.”

Bruce looked up.  Steve had his cowl pushed back and his hair was sticking up in odd places from being plastered to his head for so long.  Something about the image made Bruce chuckle.

“What?” Steve asked, looking down with a smile.

“I dreamed about this,” Bruce said.  “When I was a kid.  Captain America, coming to rescue me.”

A look of deep sadness passed over Steve’s face, but it turned slowly into a proud smile.  “You rescued yourself, Bruce.  You didn’t need me there.”  Steve tightened his grip.  “We’re going to find somewhere quiet for you to sleep all this off, and then when you wake up, we’ll go find Tony and see how he’s doing. By then, he’ll probably have every nurse in the place wrapped around his finger…”

But Bruce didn’t hear the rest because he was already fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks so much for the awesome comments. I thought I was going to get this entire story done in 20 chapters, but now it looks like it'll never end. so thanks so much for hanging in there with me and supporting me and the boys!


	37. Chapter 36: Waking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wakes up in medical, but where's Bruce?

 

The lights overhead were blinding bright when Tony blinked his eyes open.  He felt dazed and dizzy, and his memory was fuzzy.  There was the smell of antiseptic and he was naked, wrapped in white blankets.  Or, rather, not naked, but he may as well have been with how thin the hospital gown was.

Hospital gown.  Hospital.

Gunshot.  Bruce.

Tony groaned and tried to push off the bed with his left arm and sit up.

“Hey, hey now, not so fast,” a voice by his side said.

It was Clint.  He was sitting in a hard plastic chair beside the bed, and he had thrown a restraining hand across Tony’s waist.

“Take it easy, Stark.  You’re just coming out of the anesthesia.  You’ve been out for hours, but you’re fine.”

Tony groaned again and let himself fall back on the bed.  His shoulder felt numb—which was a lot better than it had been feeling—but he knew from experience that it was going to hurt like hell when the feeling returned.  His mouth was dry, and he wanted nothing more than to sink back down into weightless sleep.

No, scratch that.  He wanted to see Bruce.

“Banner?” he asked, surprised at how rough and weak his voice sounded.  Damn anesthesia. 

“I gave him something to help him relax on the jet.  He’s still sleeping it off.  The doctors want you up on your feet as soon as you can, but give yourself a minute, ok?   I don’t want to be blamed for an Iron Puddle on the floor,” Clint said.

Tony nodded. 

Five seconds later, he was pushing up on the bed again.

“Oh, to hell with it,” Clint said, and helped Tony sit up with an arm across his back.

Once he was sitting up, Tony got a good look at Clint.  He was wearing dark jeans and a purple t-shirt, but his quiver and bow were sitting in the corner.  So, not completely off-duty then, Tony mused. 

“Can we go see Bruce?” Tony asked.

Clint looked uncomfortable.  “Uh, I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”

Alarms rang in the back of Tony’s mind. “So he is hurt?  What happened? Tell me.”

Clint ran a hand through his hair.  “No, no, he really is fine…uh…ok.  Ok.  Let’s go see Bruce.”

Overall, Clint was exactly the man the type of person who Tony wanted around when he was coming out of surgery.  He had far more than his fair share of hospital visits, and he knew exactly how hard it was to stay in bed when there was somewhere else he obviously had to be.  So, Clint helped him unhook the useless monitors and lines—really, it was just a shoulder wound, why did he have to have so many machines around him?—and slip his mangled arm into a sturdy sling.  Standing was difficult at first, but he could lean on the wheeled IV stand as soon as he got his feet under him. 

Barefoot, creeping in the most un-ninja-like fashion possible, Tony managed to get out the door.  Clint, with his bow and quiver across his back, ran point, peeking around corners to make sure there were no bossy doctors or nosy nurses looking.  Apparently, when they said they wanted him out of bed, they meant a lap around the room, and not on a trek to the other side of medical.

But they went passed the rest of the medical rooms and out the door into a service corridor.  Tony was starting to tire; he hadn’t really woken up all the way, and maybe he should have asked how far it was, but really, how far away _was_ Bruce.  Then, he realized that it was probably a good sign that Bruce was in the barracks and not in the infirmary at all, which cheered him up considerably.

Then they went passed the barracks.  Tony slowed.  His shoulder was starting to wake up with the rest of him, and he could feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck and soaking his hair.  He leaned heavily on the IV stand to gain his breath back.

Clint rubbed the back of his neck.  “Ah, maybe this was a bad idea?” he said.  “But it’s farther to turn around at this point.”

Tony shook his head, resting his forehead against the metal pole, warm where he gripped it.  “No,” he panted.  “Just give me a minute.”

And then a familiar voice spoke behind him.

“Just what do you two think you’re doing?”

Natasha.

“Taking a long walk on the beach?” Tony gasped.

He turned around to see Natasha pushing a wheelchair in front of her.  “So that’s why I got a call from Hill telling me to come collect my stray superheroes?”

Tony made a face at the chair.  He knew where this was going.  “I’m not sitting in that thing.” 

“Yes, you are.  And you,” she said, looking straight at Clint, “are useless.”

Tony tried to inch his way down the hall as Clint was chastised.

“Get back here, Tony,” Natasha said.

Tony turned and faced her like a cornered cat ready to bolt.  “If I sit in the chair, are you going to take me back to my room?”

Natasha’s face softened.  “Hill told me to come get you.  She didn’t say where to take you afterwards.”

“Ok then,” Tony said.  “I trust you not to push me off the helicarrier deck.  Please try to contain yourself.”

So Tony eased himself down into the wheelchair—which, actually, was much, much better than walking—and Clint cleared the hallways ahead of them as Natasha pushed him along.  The turned down one final, nondescript gray hallway in the lowest level of the helicarrier, and Tony’s groggy brain finally registered what Clint wasn’t telling him.

The automatic doors slid open to reveal the circular steel-grated walkway surrounding the adamantium Hulk cage.  In the bright sterile white interior, there was a single bed, and Tony knew who was in it.

They put Bruce in a cage. 

“We’re sorry, Tony,” Clint said.  “He was drugged, and the doctors wanted to draw blood to see how it affected him, and you know how Bruce is about his blood. So, Cap wouldn’t let them do it, and they said that the only way they’d keep him on board when they didn’t know how or when he’d wake up is if he was…well…in there.  And so it was a choice between putting him in the cage or taking his blood without his consent, and Cap made the call.”

As Clint explained, they rounded the walkway to the door of the Hulk cage.  There, partially hidden from view by the control panels, was Steve.  He was asleep, still half in his uniform and curled up with his back firmly against the glass door of the cage, his shield pulled up over him like a blanket so that only his feet and head peeked out from under it.  The message was pretty clear: to get inside, one had to get past Captain America first.

Tony used a foot and one hand to wheel himself up to Steve and firmly kicked the shield.  The vibrations rang with a deep sonorous tone, and Steve startled awake.

“What the FUCK, Steve,” Tony said. 

Steve’s jaw tightened and he sat up against the door.  Maybe he was going to answer, but Tony didn’t wait for it because he was already at the controls, examining the buttons and lights and lever to find the right combination to open the door.

“Look,” Steve said at last, “I wasn’t going to let him wake up alone.”

Tony spun the chair around to face him. “Not alone?  You’re out here,” he said, “and Bruce is in _there_ and you call that not alone?” 

“They wouldn’t let me in,” Steve said, and he sounded a little more like the kid from Brooklyn than the superhero he was.

“Let you in?  You’re Captain Fucking America.  Don’t take shit from anyone.”

And then Tony figured out the right combination of buttons to push to override the security controls and the door slid open with a whoosh.  Steve almost tumbled inside, but caught himself.

“Orders, Tony.  I think you mean orders.”

“Yeah, don’t take those either.  Now, are you coming inside or not?”

Hands were on the back of the chair, propelling him forward, and it was Natasha because of course Natasha would have no problem with locking him in a room with a potential Hulk.  But then he remembered that yeah, that was kind of the whole point and took his hand off the wheel.

Natasha parked him next to Bruce’s bed and latched the brakes into place.  She checked his IV and the levels on the bag before putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m going to see if I can speed the paperwork along and get you two on a jet home as soon as possible,” she said.  “Try not to destroy anything before I do, ok?”

“No promises,” Tony said to her retreating back.

Bruce was out like a light.  Someone had taken off his stained shirt and dressed him plain grey sweatpants.  He had tossed and turned in his sleep because the sheets were hopelessly tangled around his legs.  But the IV line that ran to the back of his hand looked like it was in good shape, so he must not have thrashed too badly.  Checking the bag, Tony saw that it was just fluids and electrolytes to combat dehydration and no crazy anti-Hulk juice that SHIELD had cooked up in the basement or something sinister like that.  But he was definitely still drugged because his face was calm and relaxed in sleep, and he didn’t even stir when Tony scratched at the stubble on his jaw. 

He looked peaceful, as if he hadn’t slept like that in years.  Who knew, maybe he hadn’t.

Movement above him caught his eye, and Tony looked up to see that Clint had climbed on top of the cage, and was stretching out on the glass.  He had his bow and quiver with him and from up there, he could see every entrance into the room as well as the cage’s two occupants.

Make that three.  Steve cautiously crept in, shield across his back. He stood on the other side of Bruce’s bed and looked down at the sleeping scientist.

“They wanted to take his blood,” Steve whispered.

“Yeah,” Tony said.  “Clint told me.  You had to make a choice.”  Tony shrugged with one shoulder.  “I say we make _them_ make a choice: either they accept Bruce as a member of this team or else we’re not a team.”

Tony didn’t know what he expected to see in Steve’s face when he looked up, but he certainly didn’t expect the look of steely determination there.

“Agreed,” Steve said.  “Bruce has been bullied his entire life.  We can’t let that happen anymore if we can possibly stop it.”

Tony looked up at the glass ceiling.  Clint was watching them, stretched out on his stomach with his head resting on his hands.  He smiled and gave them a thumbs-up sign.

So that was settled.  They would give SHIELD an ultimatum.

But first, Tony’s overworked body said, it was time for a nap.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the comments! This was a short chapter because poor Tony is tired after all he's been through.


	38. Chapter 37: Caged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce wakes up in a cage.

 

Consciousness returned slowly.  Bruce was aware of sounds first, low indistinct murmuring echoing off metal in an empty room.  He could smell stale recycled air and the faint tang of antiseptic.  The combination of a big metal room and hospital smells told Bruce that it was probably best to wake up as slowly as possible.

So, he kept his eyes closed—though now he could see the red of his eyelids and he knew that there were bright fluorescent lights burning through them—and waited for the voices to become clearer.  

“…video conference would probably be best.  Let’s get him as far away from here as possible first.”

Oh, Steve.

“Agreed.  But you know that they probably have this conversation all on video already, right?”

And Clint.

“You underestimate my awesomeness.  I looped the video feed so all they’re seeing right now is Bruce passed out in here alone.”

Tony.  Time to wake up now.

Bruce opened his eyes and immediately regretted it as the overhead lights burned his retinas.  He tried to turn on his side away from the light, but there was a sharp tug on the back of his hand.  Looking down, he saw the IV line snaking over to the stand by the bed.  His fingers were clumsy as he tried to claw the needle out.

Big, warm hands covered his, holding his wrists in a firm but loose grip.

“Stop,” Steve said.  “It’s nothing bad.  You’re dehydrated, Bruce.  It’s ok.”

Bruce stopped struggling and let himself go limp.  The room fell silent as he blinked and looked around.  He was in the Hulk cage, though the hatch below was thankfully closed, so they weren’t planning on dropping him anytime in the immediate future.  But Steve and Tony were in there with him, and when he looked up, there was Clint, stretched out on top and making faces at him.  Bruce couldn’t help but smile when he smushed his nose and made kissy fish lips against the glass.  Silly Clint.

Tony was in a wheelchair, wrapped up in a robe with a blanket over his legs, his injured arm enveloped in a bright blue sling.  He was quiet, allowing Bruce to get his bearings.

Bruce levered himself up with a groan and Steve let go of his hands so he could scrub at his eyes with the heels of his palms.  He was shirtless, but wearing sweatpants, thank goodness, but he still pulled the thin blanket up to his chest in a semblance of modesty.

“Why are you in here?” he asked Tony and Steve.  “I mean, I can guess why I’m in here, but doesn’t it kind of defeat the purpose if you are, too?”

Tony gave him a quizzical look.  “Why do you think you’re in here, Bruce?”

Bruce pulled his knees up to his chest.  He tried to think back to whatever event would have landed him in the cage, but the last thing he could remember was falling asleep on the floor of the quinjet.

“Uh…didn’t I transform?”  He looked at Steve just in time to see sadness cloud his blue eyes, and his stomach dropped.  “Oh God, how many people did I hurt?  Did anyone die?”

“No, no!” Tony said, dragging his attention back to other side of the bed.   He was still groggy, and the sudden movement made his head spin.  “You didn’t do anything except pass out on the Godzilla tranqs that Hawkeye Pierce up there decided to shoot you up with.”

Bruce looked up to see Clint cheerfully flipping Tony off.

‘No,” Bruce said.  “I mean, yes, he did, but I asked for it…I uh…I think I was having trouble controlling the Other Guy, and well, I didn’t want to be separated from you.”

Tony snorted and threw his arm wide to gesture towards their surroundings.  “What do you call this?”

Bruce buried his face in his hands, his half-drugged brain too slow to formulate much of a response.  But Steve moved closer to the bed and rubbed back and forth across Bruce’s shoulders. 

“Tony, that’s enough.  Give him a chance to wake up all the way before you start an argument.”

“This isn’t an argument,” Tony argued, though his voice was quieter.  “We’re having a conversation.  You’ll know when it’s an argument.”

“Bruce,” Steve said, ignoring Tony for the moment, “you’re in here because the SHIELD doctors wanted to take some blood and I wouldn’t let them until you were awake to give the ok.  So they were scared that, after what you’ve been through, you’d wake up confused or angry and that there’d be trouble.  And we’re in here because you are--”

“And because I overrode the door,” Tony added.

“--And because Tony overrode the door,” Steve finished.  “But you didn’t do anything wrong.  In fact, you might be the only person in here,” he looked pointedly at Tony, “who did everything just right.”

Bruce picked at the edge of the blanket.  He blamed the drugs that still pulled him towards sleep, but he didn’t know how to respond to Steve’s admission.  Part of him couldn’t believe that Steve had stood up for him against SHIELD and refused to let them have their way.  And if that meant he ended up in a cage…well…he’d woken up in _much_ worse places before.

“Thank you,” Bruce ended up saying because he really did mean it.

Tony yawned.  The intense conversation seemed to sap whatever energy he had left.  He slumped a little in the wheelchair and winced before changing positions.  Steve and Bruce both saw how tired he was, so Steve sighed and walked around Bruce’s bed.

“Ok, Tony, you see that Bruce is ok.  Time to get you back to bed,” Steve said as he unlatched the chair’s brakes and began to wheel him towards the door.

He began to push Tony away, but Tony grabbed the left wheel hard and braced his feet on the ground, and the forward momentum spun the chair back around. “No!” Tony said.  “I’m fine here!”

Bruce watched with sleepy amusement as Steve crossed his arms across the star on his broad chest and tried to stare Tony—hair limp in his eyes, robe askew, IV trailing from his arm—into submission.  It wasn’t working.

Steve looked up to Clint and then over to Bruce and shrugged.  He left Tony where he was and returned to Bruce on the bed.

“Scoot over,” he said as he lowered the rail on one side.

Bruce scrambled over as far as he could just in time for Steve to scoop Tony up into his arms and dump him into the bed beside him.  It happened too quickly for Tony to protest, and then Steve locked the railing back up so that he couldn’t fall off the side.

“Ok?” Steve asked.

“Acceptable,” Tony replied.  But he settled down at once and was asleep almost before Bruce pulled the light blanket over the both of them.

The bed was small, and Bruce squished himself against the bedrail so that he didn’t put any undue pressure on Tony’s shoulder.  But it was far more comfortable with Tony there than it was to have the whole bed to himself.  Steve made sure both their IV lines weren’t in any danger of becoming tangled before settling himself into the wheelchair to wait.  Looking up, Bruce saw Clint watching them with a small smile on his face.

The three of them dozed while Clint kept watch from above.  After a while, a change in air pressure as the door opened signaled Natasha’s return, and Bruce woke just in time to catch the tablet she tossed on his lap.

“What’s this?” Bruce asked.  He didn’t have his glasses, but he could make out some writing if he squinted just right.

“Forms for you to sign.  They’re releasing Tony as long as he’s under a doctor’s care, so that means you’re responsible for him.  We’ve already sent agents to clear out the house you were using in Palm Springs, and JARVIS flew the suit back to the Tower, so everything should be waiting for you when we get back,” Natasha said.

Bruce double-tapped the screen to increase the text size and read through the file.  There was a record of the damage to Tony’s shoulder and the surgery performed, as well as after-care instructions.  As far as Bruce could tell, Tony’s clavicle was cracked, but not broken, but the bullet had made a mess out of his scapula and the surrounding muscles.  He’d be in pain for a while, and he would need a lot of rest and some physical therapy, but he’d be fine eventually…if he could keep still for long enough.  Bruce signed on the bottom.

“Do I get release forms, too?” he asked as he handed the tablet back to Natasha.

She gave Steve a sidelong look.  “There are…protocols…in place that we have to follow to get you out of here.”

Bruce sighed.  Of course there were.  “Ok, give it to me straight.”

“They want you drugged until we get you onto the quinjet.”

More drugs.  At this rate, he was going to sleep for a month when they got back to the Tower.

“No,” Steve said.

Three heads whipped around to look at him.

“No,” he repeated.  “We’re not drugging Bruce again.”

“Steve, it’s ok.  I don’t really mind that much,” Bruce said.  “I just want to go home.”

“Do you _want_ the drugs, Bruce.”

“No,” he said quietly.

“Ok then that’s settled.  Clint, go fire up the bird.  Natasha, we’re just going to walk right out of here, and if anyone wants to stop us, then they can go ahead and try.”

Natasha smiled.  “I’ll return the forms and get Tony’s meds,” she said before hurrying away.  “Clint!” she called.

Clint scrambled down and was out the door to ready the jet.

“Thanks again, Steve,” Bruce said once the two spies were gone.  “I mean, thanks for risking so much for me.”

Steve gently unhooked the IV lines from arm.  He took an alcohol pad and a small bandage out of one of his belt pockets and sealed the small puncture wound before it could bleed.

“Bruce, you’re worth the risk.  You’re part of my team, and I know you’d do the same for me.  What’s the point of being some so called ‘hero’ if you can’t take care of your friends?”

Bruce rubbed at the spot on his hand in silence while Steve unhooked Tony’s IV and bandaged him up. 

“And thanks for Tony, too.  He means it, even if he won’t say it.”

Steve studied the sleeping engineer.  “Well, I figure that if you love him so much then there must be something extraordinary about him.”

Bruce’s thoughts came to a screeching halt.

“I…I don’t…” he started to say, but he stopped.  He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Steve dropped the subject, but he put a large, heavy hand on Bruce’s shoulder.  It felt so warm and safe as it pushed him back down on the bed and pulled the blanket up over his shoulders.

“If you pretend to be asleep, we’ll probably get less trouble from anyone we pass,” Steve said.

So Bruce obediently laid back and closed his eyes as Steve wheeled the bed out the door.

****

In the end, Bruce didn’t need more drugs anyway.   He was genuinely asleep somewhere between the Hulk cage and the quinjet, and when he woke, he was still in the bed with Tony, but they were in the air.  Steve was sitting in one of the hard metal seats by the bed and reading a tablet, and Clint and Natasha were at the controls.

Steve noticed him stirring and looked up from the tablet.  “We’re almost home,” Steve said.  “Tony sleeps better if you’re right there, so I didn’t move you.”

Bruce tried to answer, but his reply was cut off by a yawn.  Steve looked back down at his tablet, so Bruce turned over and went back to sleep.

****

The next time he woke, it was to the sound of Tony swearing.  He blinked his eyes open to the sight of Tony’s Tower penthouse bedroom.  Steve must have tucked him and Tony into bed together, and he remembered his comment on the jet about Tony sleeping better if he was near.

Tony was trying to get up, but he couldn’t get much leverage with just one arm, and he was still weak from blood loss and shock and pain.  From the way he was moving, he was sore and stiff, too.  By the time Bruce was awake enough to help, Tony was sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over with his left forearm leaning against his thigh.

“Tony?”  Bruce’s voice was rough and he coughed to clear his throat.  “Tony, wait, let me give you a hand.”

“Oh, you’re awake,” Tony said. 

Bruce walked around the bed to Tony’s side.  “Yeah, I woke on the plane home, but I must have been more tired than I thought.  Did you just wake up, too?”

“Nah, I’ve been awake for a while, but it felt too good lying there to get up yet.  But I really need to use the bathroom, so…”

“Ah, yeah, ok,” Bruce said. 

He helped Tony get to his feet by letting him brace on his arm and pull himself up.  Tony shook off his help as he shuffled to the bathroom, but Bruce listened intently for any sound of trouble.  While he waited, he looked around the bedroom.  Their suitcases from Palm Springs were already waiting for them, which meant that the suits were probably safely home, too.  There were several prescription bottles left out on the nightstand: antibiotics and painkillers for Tony.  Bruce wasn’t sure what time it was when they left the helicarrier, but based on the way he was moving, he was probably due for a dose.

“Bruce?” Tony’s uneasy voice called from the bathroom.

He didn’t sound urgent, but Bruce picked up the pill bottle and hurried to Tony.  The injured engineer was sitting on the closed toilet seat, looking disheveled and a little miserable.

“I…uh...was thinking that maybe a shower would be nice?” he said, and when he ran his left hand through his hair, it stood up in little spikes.

Bruce considered what he read on the release forms.  By now, it had probably been long enough that the stitches would be fine as long as they didn’t get soaked.  But it would hurt far too much for Tony to try to wash by himself.  He wasn’t quite sure if Tony was asking for permission or help—especially because Tony rarely asked for either of those.

“I think it would be ok,” Bruce said slowly to gauge Tony’s reaction, “but I think you should take these first.” Bruce put the pill bottle down on the counter next to him.  “And I would like it if you let me take a shower with you.”

Tony’s eyes brightened.  “I was hoping you’d say that,” he admitted.

Bruce filled a glass of water from the sink and Tony swallowed down a few of the pills as Bruce gathered towels and fresh boxers and fluffy robe for Tony to wear.  The sling took a little while to get off because Tony was hurting pretty badly, but they managed with some teamwork.  Tony was still wearing the robe from the SHIELD hospital, so that went straight into the trash bin.  He opted to leave the dressing on for now, figuring he would change it after it was wet and easier to remove.  Bruce stripped off his sweatpants and turned on the shower.

The water felt absolutely glorious.  Designing a shower with a built-in bench was a pretty ingenious idea for a superhero, Bruce had to admit, and Tony sank down on it immediately with a pained groan.   Bruce switched the water from the overhead shower to the hand-held shower head and wet Tony down, careful to avoid spraying the hot water directly onto his tender shoulder. Tony purred under his hands as he massaged the expensive shampoo into his head.  He leaned into Bruce’s touch until his head rested on Bruce’s abs, exposing his back, so Bruce took the opportunity to wash his back, too. 

“Close your eyes,” Bruce said before he rinsed the soap from Tony’s hair and face.  Tony moaned in pleasure.

“I should be doing this for you,” Tony said with regret.  “I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

Bruce kneeled down on the tile so he was level with Tony.  “You’ll get your chance, I’m sure,” he replied.  “We’ll take care of each other, and right now, it’s my turn.”

But Tony was smiling a little—Bruce knew what a luxury it was to have a hot shower after days of being locked away, so he couldn’t help but smile back.  That was one of the things that always surprised him about Tony—even though the billionaire had the world at his figurative fingertips, he never failed to secretly appreciate the little details that actually mattered, like a hot shower, or a good meal, or a joke between friends. 

The painkillers were kicking in because Tony was already falling asleep again by the time Bruce finished washing himself off.  Bruce was glad for that when he fetched the expansive medical kit from the bathroom cupboard and redressed Tony’s shoulder.  He bundled him up in the robe and tucked him back into the big bed for some more rest. 

“Are you going to stay?” Tony asked, voice thick and heavy. 

“For a little while at least,” Bruce said.  “I slept so much, I don’t know if I can fall back asleep right now.”

“’S ok.  You don’t have to sleep.  Just…don’t go right now?”

Bruce nodded and laid down on top of the covers on Tony’s other side.  He traced Tony’s face with light fingertips, across his forehead, down his jawline, through the thickening stubble, before going back up.  Tony sighed, and the little muscles in his face softened under Bruce’s fingers as he relaxed and fell back asleep.

Bruce spent a long time just watching Tony sleep.  Though he was back in the Tower, to the only place he called home in over a decade, the familiar rooms felt strangely alien, as if he didn’t belong there anymore.  Maybe, he thought, it was because he wasn’t used to returning to a place after being held captive.  Usually, he moved on to a new place, running as fast and far as he could.  He was used to outrunning his memories; homecomings just weren’t his style.  He wondered if this is how Tony felt after he returned from Afghanistan—though it was probably on a much larger scale.

But, he thought, it wasn’t going to be long before Ross figured out where he went.  He was sure to find out that he almost had Bruce captive again, and that he was with Tony.  It didn’t take a genius to know where to find him then. 

And then, Ross would come for him. 

Tony wouldn’t let that happen.  He would try to stop Ross, not matter what; he had promised.  He said he loved Bruce.  But that was the trouble.  Bruce let his fingers drift in the air above the thick white bandage on Tony’s shoulder.  He had already let Tony get hurt.  Next time it would only be worse.

Sure, there were the other Avengers, Steve and Clint and Natasha.  But if they fought for Bruce…if they fought against American soldiers for Bruce…it would drag the Avenger name in the mud.  Everything they had built would be torn down.  For Bruce.  For nothing.

All at once, Bruce knew what he had to do.  He had to cut himself loose.  He was the weakest link in the team, the loose cannon, the unsafe bet.  The trip to Palm Springs had just served to confirm what he always knew deep inside: Bruce would always be hunted, no matter where he went, or how far he thought he left the past behind him.

And Tony…Tony said he loved him, but he didn’t know what he was really up against.  And, sure, maybe Tony was a little more secure when he was around, a little less self-destructive, but that wouldn’t matter if he lost everything in a fight against Ross and the government.  And Tony had so very much to lose: his company, his tower, his suits, his life.

If Bruce really loved Tony, he would protect him, no matter what.  And that meant protecting him from Bruce.

He had to leave.  There was just no other way to keep the team safe. 

Bruce looked down at Tony, deeply asleep in peaceful narcotic dreams.  There was no way Tony would let him go.  If he wanted to leave, he would have to do it now, before he changed his mind or Tony woke and talked him out of it.

It wouldn’t take him long to pack.  He didn’t really have much to call his own anyway. 

So Bruce slipped out of bed as quietly as he could.  He padded around to the side of the bed to take one last good look at Tony, to preserve this last moment of peace and love so he would have something to keep him going when he was once again alone in the world.

He bent down, letting his lips hover right over Tony’s, feeling his soft breath against his face.  He didn’t want to risk waking him with a kiss. 

“I love you, Tony,” Bruce said silently, nothing more than a ghost of a breath against his lips.

And then, before he could lose his nerve, Bruce left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ducks rotten vegetables* Please don't hate me!


	39. Interlude: Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve goes looking for Bruce.

“Captain Rogers?”

JARVIS’s cultured voice startled Steve.  He was engrossed in reading Cormac McCarthy’s _The Road_ , and he was at a particularly intense part of the plot.  The little boy symbolized something, he just knew it, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it yet.

Steve spent a lot of his downtime lately reading: fiction, nonfiction, magazines, histories, anything and everything that could help him understand the culture he had been thrust into.  He liked reading now a lot more than he had when he was a kid—maybe it was because JARVIS had a knack for recommending interesting literature, or, more likely, the serum improved his neural network, which made it a lot easier to process mass amounts of text in one sitting.  He never really had time to read during The War so he hadn’t noticed before.  And he loved the tablet—if he didn’t understand something he read, then definitions, maps, videos, pictures, and everything else were just a click away.

Really, why wasn’t everyone buried in their tablets all the time?  There was so much to learn.

Well, Tony was, but that was different.  And Bruce, but he was different, too.

“Yes, JARVIS?” Steve answered.

“I have a matter that requires your immediate attention.”

“What is it, JARVIS?”

“Doctor Banner has left the premises.”

Oh, that was all?  Tony’s paranoia sure rubbed off on his computer.  Steve turned back to his novel.

“I’m sure he stepped out to get some groceries. It’s not like he needs a babysitter.”

“I do not believe that Doctor Banner has any intention of returning.”

Ok, now _that_ got Steve’s attention.  He closed the novel and accessed the Tower’s security cameras using the tablet’s app.

“What makes you think that?” he asked the computer.  “Show me.”

JARVIS displayed the video footage of Bruce leaving Tony’s room, and sure enough, there was a certain set to his jaw and a stealth to his steps that indicated that he was on a mission.  The video cut to Bruce walking to the elevator that would lead to the lower levels and Grand Central.  He was wearing nondescript clothes and carrying a small leather duffle bag.

“How long ago did he leave?”

“Eight and a half minutes ago.”

“Did you tell Tony?”

There was a short pause.  “I have not informed Mr. Stark,” JARVIS said.  “Doctor Banner asked for secrecy in the matter, specifically in regards of informing Mr. Stark.”

“But he didn’t say anything about me, did he?” Steve said as realization dawned.

“No, which is why I thought it best to contact you first.  Mr. Stark is currently sleeping in the penthouse if you think it wise to inform him.  Based on my calculations of his metabolism and the amount of narcotics he has recently ingested, Mr. Stark should sleep for another eight hours.”

“Don’t wake him yet.  If Clint and Natasha are still here, have them meet me in the kitchen.”

“Right away, Captain Rogers.”

Steve left his shield but he took his leather jacket and his cell phone.  As a last minute thought, he grabbed all the cash he could find stashed around his room and stuffed it into an old brown wallet and slipped it into the jacket pocket.

Clint and Natasha were waiting for him in the kitchen.  Curled around a cup of coffee in loose jeans and a black shirt, Clint looked rumbled and worn, as if he had just been woken up though the sun was barely setting.  Natasha, in her tight jeans and high heels, looked like she was already headed out for the night.

“We have a situation,” Steve said.

Clint yawned and huddled closer to the coffee cup.  “We’re Avengers.  There’s _always_ a situation.”

“Bruce is gone,” Steve said.  The other two snapped to attention.

“Gone where?  Does JARVIS know?” Natasha asked.

“No, just that he left about ten minutes ago, and he looked like he was carrying a duffle bag.”

“This is bad,” Clint said.  “Really bad.  SHIELD isn’t going to like it if he goes off-grid.  They want to keep tabs on him, and he was making it pretty easy by holing up here in the Tower.”

Steve turned to him.  “That’s the point, Clint.  He feels trapped, and this is just a bigger cage.  We need to find him and help him.”

“You mean make him come back, right?” Clint asked as he abandoned the coffee and stretched a little to wake up.

“If that’s what he wants.  Look, Tony doesn’t know he’s gone, and I’d like to keep it that way until we _know_ he’s gone.  He doesn’t need any undue stress right now, and if we tell him, he’s going to jump into the suit and make everything worse.”

“So,” Natasha said slowly, “let’s not make it worse until we know it can’t get much worse?”

“Right,” Steve confirmed.  “If SHIELD knows Bruce is gone, it’s a safe assumption that they’re going to try to bring him back—by force or coercion, most likely.  After the way they treated him on the helicarrier, I wouldn’t put anything past them.”

Clint and Natasha looked at each other and a knowing glance passed between them.

“We have to keep this quiet,” Steve said.

“Ok,” Clint said, snapping all the way awake now that he had a reason to do so.  “I’ll take the seaports and the docks. He’s pretty good at sneaking onto ships, and I’m good at boats.”

Natasha nodded.  “I’ll check the busses and train stations,” she said. 

“I’ll go out on foot.  He may not have gotten far yet, especially if he’s still formulating a plan.  Keep your phones on you, and we’ll rendezvous back here in six hours if we haven’t found him by then.”

The three of them started to head downstairs, but a heavy sigh from Clint interrupted them.

“You know,” he said, “there’s no way we’re going to find Bruce if he doesn’t want to be found.”

Steve knew that, though he hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself quite yet.

 “Then we better hope that he wants to be found,” he said.

****

Six hours later, there was no sign of Bruce.  Neither of the agents nor Steve had any luck at all.  Steve was so worried that he sent Natasha to SHEILD headquarters to try to use their surveillance equipment to track him and to try to feel out what they knew about the situation, if they knew anything at all.

And, even worse, Tony was awake and watching TV in the living room when they returned to the Tower.

“Hey,” he said from the couch when Steve and Clint entered.  “It’s not fair for you four to go out on the town and leave your poor, injured teammate behind.  Was Bruce your designated driver or something?  Hey…where’s Bruce…and Natasha. Don’t tell me you lost them.”

Steve took a deep breath while he waited for Tony’s stream-of-consciousness to stop.  Clint took cover behind the bar.

“No, we didn’t lose them.  Not both of them.”

Tony froze in mid-channel-flipping. “Where’s Bruce?” he asked quietly.

“We don’t know,” Steve admitted.

“JARVIS!” Tony yelled, already on his feet, “Fire up the suit right now.  I want it on the gantry in ten seconds.”

“JARVIS will do no such thing,” Steve ordered.  “You are in no way capable of using the suit right now.”

Steve moved so that he was blocking Tony’s path from the couch to the door that led outside to the landing strip.

“Sir,” JARVIS said, “I am afraid I must agree with Captain Rogers.  Your current medical condition would be exacerbated by the physical demands of the suit, perhaps beyond repair.”

“Fine.  Get the car ready then.”

Steve moved over to Tony and put a restraining hand on his good left arm.  “Tony,” he said quietly, “we’re not giving up yet.  Natasha’s at SHIELD, and Clint and I are going back out right now.  But you need to stay here in case he comes home.  Anyone can go out and look for him, but he needs a reason to come home.  That reason is _you._ ”

The fight went out of Tony all at once and he sank back onto the couch.  It was like watching a Macy’s Thanksgiving balloon deflate.

“I can’t just sit here on my ass and wait,” he said.  “I have to _do_ something.”

“The only thing you need to do is to take care of yourself so that Bruce has something left to come home to.  We don’t think he’s left the city yet.  He might just be off on his own thinking somewhere.”

Tony nodded, and Steve was worried for a second that he was trying not to cry.  But when he looked up, his eyes were hard and dry.

“Then get back out there and _look_ for him instead of wasting time in here!” he growled.

Steve nodded.  He motioned for Clint, who was guzzling coffee straight out of the pot, to hurry.  Clint put the empty pot in the sink and followed him out the door.

****

Four in the morning found Steve wandering Greenwich Village.  He felt a little like a boy looking for a lost puppy, hopeful and hopeless at the same time.  The streets were as quiet as they ever were, and the early morning air had that crisp edge to it that Steve loved.  The weather would start turning soon, and then the trees would burst in a kaleidoscope of oranges and yellows. The thought of apple season made Steve feel sad when he reminded himself that Bruce might not be there to explore the farmer’s markets and teach him about all the autumn produce that he had never seen before.

Turning north, Steve figured he better head back to the Tower soon.  He walked the abandoned streets toward Chelsea, passing a small, beat-up park.  A squirrel darted out in front of him, chattering as it ran almost across his feet.  He followed it with his eyes to see it run through the chain-link fence and around a bench to perch in front of a man on a swing set who was throwing chunks of a bagel to a small congregation of other squirrels.

It was Bruce.

Quietly, as if he was tracking a wild animal, Steve walked around to the gate.  He kept his eyes on Bruce the entire time, just in case the man bolted, but he made no movement other than a slow swaying back and forth on the swing.

The gate to the playground creaked when he opened it.

“Hey Steve,” Bruce said.

The squirrels scattered when Steve approached, watching from the bushes with dark little eyes.

“I’m surprised I found you,” Steve admitted.

“I’m not,” Bruce said.  “Have you been looking all night?”

“Just about.  Need a push?”

Bruce didn’t answer—heck, he hadn’t even looked up from the ground yet—so Steve stepped up behind him and gave him a gentle push in the middle of his back.  He grasped the chains so he wouldn’t fall as he swung forward. 

“You had us worried,” Steve said.  “We thought you were gone for good.”

“I…I wanted to.  I went to the bus station, but when I got there, I just couldn’t get on.  So I kept walking.”

Steve gave him another push as he swung backwards.

“Tony’s worried sick,” he said.  “He wanted to take the suit out to look for you.”

“Oh God, he didn’t, did he?  He’s going to rip that shoulder off if he does.”

“No.  JARVIS and I wouldn’t let him.  He’s at home, though, probably driving JARVIS nuts.”

Another push.  Bruce wasn’t reacting, but he wasn’t fighting it either, so Steve kept going.

“JARVIS was built to handle Tony’s special kind of crazy.  He’ll be fine,” Bruce said.

The next time Bruce swung towards him, Steve caught the chain and held it still.  That made Bruce look up.

“And what about you, Bruce?  You’re not so fine.”

Bruce licked his lips.  He threw the last piece of bagel to the bushes before answering.  “I almost got Tony killed.”

Steve laughed.  “ _Tony_ almost got Tony killed.  You’re the reason he’s at home in his penthouse right now.”

Bruce shook his head slowly.  “You know it’s not a good idea for me stay.  There are so many reasons why I’m better off on my own.”

“Sure,” Steve admitted.  He sat heavily on the swing beside Bruce.  “But there are a heck of a lot of reasons why we need you around, too.” He sighed.  “Look, Bruce, I can’t promise you that this is never going to happen again.  We just don’t live the kind of life where those promises are possible, and there’s no use in lying about it.  But, I _can_ swear that we are a team, and no matter what, we will always come for you.”

“Is that why you’re here now?  To make me come back?” Bruce’s voice sounded very tired, as if he just didn’t have the will to fight if the answer was _yes._

“I’m not here as your team leader or Captain America.  I’m here as your friend Steve.  I want to help you do what’s best, and no one can decide that but you.”  Steve reached into his jacket pocket and took out the battered leather wallet stuffed with cash.  “So, if you really think you need to leave, then I want you to take this.” He held out the wallet to Bruce.

Slowly, as if he was one of those scrawny squirrels reaching out for a piece of bagel, Bruce took the wallet. 

“And what are you going to tell Tony?” Bruce asked.

“That I couldn’t find you.  And I’ll do my best to keep him from self-destructing in the aftermath, and hopefully, if you ever decide to come home, he’ll be in the same condition as when you left him.”

Bruce’s eyes fell again and he was silent for a long moment.  Then he handed the wallet back to Steve.

“I don’t want to leave,” he said, so quietly that Steve wouldn’t have heard it without his enhanced hearing.  “But I’m not ready to go home yet.”

Steve took back the wallet and slipped it into his jacket.  He looked at the clock on his cell phone.  It was almost five in the morning.

“Ok,” Steve said. “I know where we can go.”

****

Bruce told Steve it was ok to text the others and say that they were coming home—eventually.  Clint and Natasha were relieved, and Tony’s texted reply wasn’t something he could repeat in polite company, so he let Bruce read it off his screen.

He took Bruce to Brooklyn, to the old gym where he had spent so many hours destroying heavy bags and trying to forget reality.  The owner still kept in contact with him, so it wasn’t too much of a surprise when Steve showed up on the doorstep and asked if they could have an hour or so alone before the place opened.

The sun was barely rising, washing the room in greys and soft yellows. Steve led Bruce over to the heavy bag and taped up his hands before slipping on a pair of old gloves.  The faded jeans and shirt Bruce were wearing were fine for a workout, and Steve stripped off his button-down plaid shirt so he was in just his white undershirt.  They shadowboxed to warm-up before Steve turned Bruce loose on the bag.

“Still remember everything?” Steve asked, holding the bag steady from behind.

“Most of it,” Bruce said.  He proved it with a left-right combination that showed his good form.  “I managed to punch a guy out cold,” he said in between hits to the bag.

“Really?” Steve said, though he wasn’t very shocked. By the way Bruce was landing hits, he had learned a lot in their short time together.  “How did that feel?”

Bruce paused, breathing fast.  Then he took a huge swing at the bag, and Steve could see how the impact traveled up his arm and across his back.  Bruce didn’t even flinch.

“It was pretty scary,” Bruce admitted.  “He went down really fast, and I thought I broke his trachea and killed him.”

He probably deserved it, Steve thought, but he kept it to himself.  Steve stepped away from the bag to let it swing and give Bruce a little more of a challenge.

“The first time I knocked a guy out, it was Hitler,” Steve said.  Bruce laughed.  “It was some guy playing Hitler with a little mustache drawn on in grease pencil.  I felt ridiculous.”

“I’m sure the audience loved it,” Bruce replied.

Steve shrugged. “Sure, but it wasn’t what I was meant to do.”

“Well at least now you’re doing it,” Bruce said.  “And what the hell was _I_ meant to do?  Lab research?” the question was punctuated with another solid hit.  “Sacrifice my future to become a monster?” His voice was turning into a growl as his fist connected again. “Live as a science experiment in a damn _cage_?” Steve could see Bruce’s eyes flash with green.  “Watch everything I love _die?_

As Bruce’s fist shot out towards the bag, Steve could swear that he saw green creeping from the edge of the glove all the way up Bruce’s arm.  The heavy bag exploded as the stitching split with the impact and sand flew everywhere, leaking onto the polished wooden floor as Bruce looked aghast at the mess.

“I…I…I’m so sorry,” Bruce said, voice small and lost again.  “I can’t believe…” Bruce looked down at the glove on his right hand.  It was split, as if something had stretched it out from the inside.  “Oh, oh God!”

When he looked at Steve, his face was a mass of pure panic.

Steve was gripping the edge of the bench so tightly that his fingers left little grooves in the wood.  But he wasn’t scared. He was shocked, sure, but with fascination more than fear.

When he finally managed to find his voice, he heard himself say, “Bruce!  Do you think you could do that again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the comments! They make my day so much better and it really helps me get excited for the next chapter.


	40. Chapter 38: Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Tony was up to while Steve looked for Bruce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place concurrently with Steve's Interlude.

The elevator closed behind Steve and Clint, leaving Tony alone in the living room.  The television was still on, blaring the evening news.  Tony didn’t know if he should keep it on, just in case there was sudden news of a green monster terrorizing the streets of New York.  After a moment, he turned it off.

It was too quiet.

He had fallen asleep.  That’s all it took for Bruce to take his chance to run. 

He should’ve tied Bruce to the bed, chained hand and foot, until he woke up.  But then the thought of Bruce in chains against his will made Tony feel a little sick.

Then again, the nausea could be from worry.  Or the fucking relentless pain in his shoulder, which was growing worse by the second.  Tony thought about taking some more of the pain meds—it had been, what? Six, seven hours since the last dose?—but they were strong enough to knock him out for the rest of the night.  And, well, the last time he took them, he lost Bruce.

There were the other ones Bruce had gotten for him for the arc reactor.  They weren’t as strong, but maybe it would take the edge off the pain. They were downstairs, in the shop, so Tony heaved himself off the couch, holding his injured arm in his left because the sling was in the bedroom, and headed down to the shop.

The elevator ride was long enough for Tony to think in solitude, which was an awful feeling considering where Tony’s thoughts were going.  So he started thinking about something else, and when you’re Tony Stark, _something_ _else_ usually meant building something.  Or blowing something up.  Or, even better, building something that might blow up.

The elevator opened on shop, and Tony shuffled inside.  The gnawing ache down his right side was making it difficult to move, so he fumbled around in the drawer to his drafting table and popped open the bottle of painkillers.  There was a half-full water bottle there, too, so he swallowed a couple down.

Tony leaned heavily on the drafting table, and the stack of blueprints shifted under his elbow.  One tumbled to the floor, but he didn’t have the motivation or the energy to retrieve it.    He looked down to see what fell.  It was the specs to Bruce’s watch and glasses.

For some reason, it felt just wrong to leave those on the floor, so Tony reached down with his left hand to pick them up, but when he took his arm off the table, there was a little chip stuck to his forearm.  Tony recognized it.  It was JARVIS’s chip that Bruce has saved from the glasses before he rigged the base to explode.  He picked it carefully out of his skin.

“JARVIS!” Tony growled. 

“At your service, Sir.”

“Yeah, you say that now.  Why didn’t you tell me that Bruce left?”

“I’m sorry, but there is no protocol in place for when Doctor Banner leaves the premises.”

“So you had no idea that Bruce was leaving?”

“I did, Sir; however, Doctor Banner asked for privacy in the matter, and I had no reason to override his wishes.”

Tony picked up a wrench from the work table and threw at the wall.  The effort sent a sharp spike of pain from Tony’s neck all the way down his ribcage, but the wrench bounced off with a satisfying clang. “How about for his own safety?”

“Pardon me, Sir, but Doctor Banner did not appear to be in any danger.”

“Oh yeah?  You don’t know the half of it.”  Tony fished a chip reader out of the desk, inserted the chip, and plugged it into the desk computer.  “Upload the chip and integrate it into your central drive.”

The silence—that damn silence again; he really needed to put some music on—and then JARVIS replied with a simple “oh.”

“Yeah?  So Bruce didn’t tell you about what happened, did he?  Well, you see what he’s been through now?”

“Yes, Sir.  I apologizing for not stopping Doctor Banner. I did not realize that General Ross may be looking for him.”

“ _Now_ will you ready the suit?”  Tony asked, half-pleading and half-demanding.

“No, Sir.  The danger to your physical well-being is too high.  But I have every confidence in Captain Rogers, Agent Barton and Agent Romanoff.”

“Fuck you, J.”

“As you wish, Sir, but sweet talk will get you nowhere.”

Tony sighed.  He needed a project to keep his hands—uh, hand—and his mind busy, so he started on the watch and glasses.  But, no, that would take two hands to use the tiny jewelers’ tools and to do any kind of decent job on it.  

He needed to build a new suit.  Bruce’s suit.  Maybe, then, if Bruce came back— _when_ he came back, Tony forced himself to think—then he would know exactly how much he meant to Tony.

“JARVIS, pull up the Snowflake Mark I armor.”

The projectors flared to life as JARVIS rendered a 3D image of the armor, layering each piece onto the other so Tony could watch how it was built from the ground up.  He could get the armor itself done by morning if JARVIS started fabricating the finalized pieces now.  The rest he could finish as he went along based on the notes he and Bruce made in Malibu.

“Fire up the coffee, DUM-E,” Tony ordered.  “This is going to take all night.”

DUM-E whirred and squeaked his way to the kitchenette.

“And JARVIS, I want these pieces in fabrication and sent to painting—and make it purple.”

****

Unlike Tony’s Malibu garage, the workshop in New York had windows to let the light in; still, Tony didn’t know how much time had passed until the grey light of dawn began to grow brighter than the overhead fluorescent lights.

Tony blinked owlishly down at his coffee.  It was cold and bitter, but it was better than nothing.  His shoulder still hurt ferociously, even though he had tied a towel into a make-shift sling to take some of the weight of his arm.  But he didn’t want to take more of the narcotics and sleep, just in case he missed a call that Bruce needed help. 

Steve hadn’t returned yet.  That was both a good sign and a bad sign.  JARVIS told him that Natasha returned from SHIELD some hours ago, which was definitely a checkmark in the “good” category because that meant that SHIELD didn’t know anything was amiss.  Clint came and went several times, prowling the city and refueling on coffee and microwave burritos in turn.  But not Steve.  He wouldn’t stop looking.

Thank God for Captain America, thought Tony.  Who else would he be able to trust to go looking for his boyfriend for hours on end in downtown Manhattan?

Tony looked up at the armor, suspended on chains from the ceiling.  It was finished…well, mostly.  He still needed to install the catalytic converters, but that wouldn’t be ready until Bruce was back to calibrate them.  In the meantime, though, it would still serve its primary function: expand to fit Hulk and contract back down to size to protect Bruce.

And it was purple.  Beautiful, sleek, and purple.  Hulk was going to look like a giant fucking grape in this thing, but it was what Bruce wanted, so it was perfect.

But now there was nothing to keep Tony occupied except for the bitter dregs of coffee.

At least he was too tired to cry now.

And then Tony’s phone beeped, and Tony nearly dislocated his arm as he dove from it.  It was a mass text from Steve to the rest of the team: _Bruce is fine.  We’ll be home in a few hours._

Fat, sloppy tears fell down Tony’s face, splattering on the faceplate of the phone.  A sob made his chest hitch, and he nearly cried out from the pain as it pulled on his shoulder, but that wasn’t what made the tears continue to fall.

_We’ll be home in a few hours._

When his hands decided to stop shaking enough from him to hit the keys, he texted back _: Tell Bruce that if he doesn’t get back here by lunch, I’m going to tie him to the bed and fuck him so hard he can’t walk, much less RUN AWAY._

It had never felt to satisfying to hit the “send” button before.

A long moment, and Tony wondered if he repeated the message or not.  Then, the reply came: _You gotta do what you gotta do –B._

Tony put his head down on the table and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for the comments and the support.
> 
> And a special thanks to noonanna, who is translating this whole story into Chinese. I can't believe you would put in so much hard work! I just hope the rest of the story makes it worth it. :) I really can't thank you enough.


	41. Chapter 39: Home Is Where the Arc Reactor Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce comes home to Tony

By the time Bruce and Steve arrived back at the Tower, Bruce was exhausted.  He looked sidelong at Steve.  He looked like he was fresh from a nap, despite the fact that Bruce knew he had been up all night wandering the Manhattan streets, and then a two-hour workout at the boxing gym.  Sometimes, Bruce had to actively remind himself that Steve was technically the youngest member of the team, if calculations were based on life experience.  The man was, what? 24? 25 maybe? But there was always such an aura of maturity and responsibility surrounding Steve that belied his true age.

Steve put an arm around him in the elevator, and Bruce wasn’t sure if it was meant to be reassuring or congratulatory or comforting or if it was just because he looked like he was about to fall over.  But, it was heavy and warm and welcome nonetheless.

“Are you and Tony going to be ok?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure we will,” Bruce said.  He yawned.  “If he’s half as tired as I am, we’ll just crash anyway.”

Steve nodded.  “I can tell him you’re too tired and put him to bed if you’d like to wait until you’re rested up to see him.”

“Thanks for the offer.” Bruce paused, truly considering it.  “No.  I’ll be fine.”

Steve didn’t answer, but the arm around his shoulders tightened for a moment.

“JARVIS, where’s Tony?” Bruce asked the elevator.

“Mr. Stark is in his workshop,” JARVIS answered.  “He is currently awake, and working on a project.”

“Take me there?”

“Of course, Doctor Banner.  And Captain Rogers as well?”

“Ah, no, I better not intrude. Drop me on my floor, please,” Steve said.

“Very well,” JARVIS answered.

Despite that Steve’s floor was below the workshop, JARVIS chose to drop Bruce off first.  The elevator door opened on the dimly-lit workshop foyer.

“Hey,” Steve said, catching the elevator door before it closed.  “I don’t know what you and Tony have going here, but don’t let him be too hard on you.  If he is, I’ll set him straight.”

Bruce smirked at Steve’s choice of words.  “Well, he’s swinging one-handed, so I think I can take him.”

“That’s my boy,” Steve laughed.  He let the elevator close, leaving Bruce alone.

JARVIS opened the workshop door for him without even asking for the security code—which immediately made Bruce wary.  But he entered anyway, calling Tony’s name.

 

There was no answer.

So Bruce hurried around the corner, past the computer terminals and the cars to the back where the armor assembly arrays were housed.  There, balanced precariously on a stool and half-splayed across a drafting table, was Tony, dead asleep.  He looked horrible.  His left arm was smeared with grease from his fingernails to his bicep, and his right arm was bound up in a shop towel of all things, and Bruce could see blood staining the bandages.  His face was smudged, too, though it didn’t disguise the bruises under his eyes that bled to the top of his cheekbones.

Bruce sighed.  With that shoulder wound, Tony would be stiff and sore when he woke, so it was better sooner than later.  He moved to stand on Tony’s left side, so that if he jolted awake, Bruce could catch him before he hit the floor. 

“Tony?” Bruce said gently, patting his back.  “Tony, wake up.”

Tony did startle awake, and Bruce grabbed his arm so he wouldn’t pitch himself over onto his right side. Still, he yelped in pain before he realized who grabbed him.

“Bruce? You’re—Bruce! You’re home!” Tony said, trying to stand on unsteady feet.

“Shh!  Shh, Tony, take it easy,” Bruce said quietly.  “Let’s go to bed, ok?”   He looked around, noting for the first time the number of empty cups strewn about the work area and the coffee rings imprinted on the blueprints.  A pang of guilt lanced through his stomach.  “Have you been down here all night?”

Tony looked around, blinking as if he couldn’t quite focus on his surroundings.  “Uh…yeah, I think so…I was working on…? OH! Oh, Bruce, look what I made for you!”  And then Tony was stumbling out of Bruce’s grasp towards the pods where he housed his varies armors.  “JARVIS!  Lights!”

The pod farthest on the left blinked to life to reveal a newly minted set of armor.  It was different than the others—not as shiny, no helmet, the proportions were all off, and it was a dark matte purple with grey accents.  After a brief second, Bruce recognized it.  It was _his_ armor, the one they designed together in Malibu. 

Sleep forgotten for a moment, Bruce stepped up to the platform in awe.  He couldn’t believe that Tony had fabricated the whole suit in a night.  Then again, he shouldn’t ever estimate a coffee-fueled Tony.  He reached out to touch the epaulettes which were big enough to cover the Other Guy’s shoulders, yet designed so gracefully that it wouldn’t be cumbersome on him in his lesser form.  It was smooth and cool to the touch.  He moved his hands down, to feel the precision of the joints in the plates, beveled together so lovingly that it was nearly seamless—he could go bare underneath this and never feel a pinch. 

“Here,” Tony said, taking his hand and moving down to the armor’s left forearm.  He pressed Bruce’s fingers to a spot where he could feel laser etching, nearly invisible in this light. 

_BannerTech_ , his fingers traced, in Stark Industries’ customary font.

Bruce turned to Tony.  “BannerTech?”  This isn’t my design.”

“Yes it is.  All the parts that matter, anyway.  And it’s not like I patented the Iron Man armor, so whatever.  I thought you might like your own company—a subsidiary of Stark Industries…for now.”

Bruce couldn’t help the smile that quirked his lips.  “A sub company?  Really, Tony, that’s some pretty blatant bribery.”

“Is it working?”

Bruce took Tony’s face in both his hands and kissed him.  Tony’s eyes widened in response, but he gave into the kiss after a second’s surprise.  It was a simple kiss, just a hard press of mouth against mouth, but he could feel Tony smile and relax against him.

“Ok, so it’s working,” Tony said when they broke free.  He shrugged with one shoulder.  “Anyway, I still get 51% of the profit.”

“It’s going to be non-profit,” Bruce said.

“Yeah, I figured as much.”

Tony stepped away, gingerly holding onto his right hand to take some of the weight off his shoulders.  He looked like he was on the verge of collapse.  Bruce could spend hours exploring every inch of his new armor, but it was time for both of them to get to bed.

“Tony, I love the armor, but can we forgo testing for now in favor of nap? It’s been a long night.”

Tony sat heavily back down at his drafting table, resting his right arm on it.  “Yeah, naptime sounds great.  Do you want to sleep with the armor?  I’ve been there, I won’t judge.”

Bruce reluctantly peeled himself away from the armor.  “No, I was thinking more along the lines of sleeping with Iron Man beside me.”

Tony gestured to the other pods, dark for now, but all housing their own Iron Man.  “Well, here they are. Plenty to choose from.”

Bruce shook his head and took Tony’s hand.  “No, I mean the _real_ Iron Man.  Come on, bedtime.”

****

Bruce managed to get them both showered again before bed, but Tony was strangely reluctant to settle down, despite the fact that he was clearly at the end of his energy stores.  He was in pain, Bruce could tell, but he wouldn’t take the pain medication, either.

“Tony,” Brue said. “There’s no reason why you have to suffer, and you’re not going to get to sleep if your shoulder hurts.”

But Tony shook his head.  “I’ll sleep if I’m tired enough.  Those pills…they’re too strong…they knock me out and then, well, anything can happen.”

Suddenly, it clicked.  “I’m not going to leave again,” Bruce said.  “When you wake up, I’m going to be right here next to you,  I swear.”

The muscles in Tony’s jaw flexed as his thought about it.  “I don’t want you to think you’re a prisoner here,” he said.

Bruce shook his head.  “I’ve been on the run for so long, I forgot what a home feels like.  I don’t think I ever knew what a real home is supposed to feel like.  It scared me.  But…I couldn’t leave.  I tried, I really did, but then I thought about you, and Steve, and Clint, and Natasha, and JARVIS, and DUM-E…and I didn’t want to leave all that behind.  That’s the difference between a home and a prison, I think.  A prison is a place you _can’t_ leave, but a home is a place you don’t _want_ to leave.”

Tony laid his head down on the pillows, still and calm in a way he wasn’t before.  Bruce shook out two of the pain pills from the bottle and popped them into his mouth, then bent down to kiss Tony.  His lips were soft and dry under Bruce’s, and they parted for his questioning tongue.  Bruce lapped at Tony’s tongue until Tony kissed back.  Then, he pushed the two pills into Tony’s mouth, and quicker than the exhausted engineer could react, pulled away and tipped a glass of water against his lips.  Tony swallowed in surprise and the effort left him gasping a little.

“Oh...Doc,” Tony moaned, “you’ve _ruined_ me!  Now I’m going to demand that all my medication is delivered _orally.”_

Bruce chuckled and slid between the sheets next to Tony.  He pulled him close, letting Tony find a comfortable position with his shoulder.  “Go to sleep,” he pleaded.

“Ok,” Tony yawned.  “Doctor’s orders.”

And, this time, Bruce had no trouble falling asleep with Tony heavy in his arms. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long, and it's a short chapter, too! But thanks for all the kind words and support. Life is kind of kicking my butt right now, so it's great to get lost in the story when I can make the time for it.


	42. Chapter 40: The Gantry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce uses Tony's gantry for the first time...but it probably won't be the last.

Tony woke up alone, the bed next to him cool and empty.  He tried to roll over, but the agony in his shoulder stopped him halfway and his bit-off scream came out as a groan.

“Hey, hey,” a soft voice said, and there was a hand on the middle of his back preventing him from rolling any further.  “Easy now.”

And then Bruce’s face came into focus above him.  He was dressed in just his pajama bottoms, curls a wild mass of brown and grey. The bed dipped as he sat on the edge, and the hand on Tony’s back traced over his skin, barely tickling, but reminding him not to try to move too quickly again.

“I thought you were gone again,” Tony admitted.

Bruce shook his head but didn’t answer, and his hand continued to caress Tony’s back, moving up to skirt the edge of the bandages and back down.  It was hypnotizing, and they were quiet for so long that Tony was on the verge of falling asleep again.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Bruce said, snapping Tony awake. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Tony didn’t know how to respond.  People rarely apologized to him—well, not genuinely at least—and he never apologized to anyone else, even when he should.  And Bruce sounded...heartbroken.

But, instead of pity, the anger from the night before flared up at Bruce’s tone.

“So that’s it?” Tony asked, and his voice had a sharper edge to it than he intended. “You’re _sorry_ that you just left without a word?”  Tony heard a quick inhale of breath, but he didn’t give Bruce a chance to cut in.  “And now here I am feeling like an asshole if I tell you not to do it again because you’re a grown ass man and if I lock you up in my Tower for the rest of your life—my life—whatever, I’m not any better than the rest of them.”

Bruce slid off the mattress to kneel beside the bed, his head resting on his folded arms so that they were almost nose-to-nose.  The resigned look in his eyes made Tony wary.

“Are you done?” Bruce asked when Tony was quiet again.  He didn’t sound sarcastic—it was an honest question.

“Maybe.”

“Because I’d like to go play with my new suit of armor now,” Bruce said, and a smile spread across his face to light up his brown eyes so brightly that they turned almost hazel.

“So get dressed—or, better yet, don’t,” Tony replied.

Bruce did end up sliding on a pair of Tony’s old cargo pants and a grey henley, and he helped Tony wrestle on a pair of jeans and a black tank top.  He was gentle as he secured Tony’s arm in the awful blue sling and he also wrapped a wide bandage around the entire sling and his chest to bind it even further and help support the weight.

Bruce was thrumming with excitement in the elevator down, and his positive energy was infectious.  Tony was quite intrigued—he had never seen Bruce particularly excited about anything.  He had begun to think that the guy was just as afraid to be truly happy as he was to get angry.   

The workshop was as empty as when they left it, the row of Iron Man suits resting in their deactivated states.  Their cousin armor, looking like the black sheep at a family reunion in its purple paint job, lay waiting at the far end.  But Bruce walked straight to it and he splayed his hands across the small plates that made up the chest piece.

“The gamma converters need to be calibrated before they’re installed,” Tony remarked.  “But you can still put it on and see how it moves.  The gadgets just won’t run without power.”

“Well, the Other Guy needs to charge them up first anyway,” Bruce said with a half-shrug.  “I’m not very radioactive on my own—unless we used my blood to charge it, but I kind of like it on the inside where it belongs.”

“Can’t blame you for that, Doc.”

The edge of the sling was starting to cut into the side of Tony’s neck, and the strap put some pressure against the arc reactor that wasn’t exactly pleasant.  So Tony went to the drawer where he kept the extra painkillers and shook out a couple onto the desktop.  He considered asking Bruce to _administer_ the dose for him, but he looked so entranced by his new toy that Tony didn’t want to tear him away quite yet, so he took the pills like a big boy.  How boring.

“Ready to suit up?” Tony called out.

Bruce looked up. “Ready when you are.”

“Ok, JARVIS run the Snowflake Protocol Stage 1.  Bruce, you should give him a little room.”

“As you wish, Sir,” JARVIS replied.

The circle of floor the armor stood on slid away and mechanical arms reached up to grasp the suit and pull it under the tiles; the floor slid back into place and it was if the armor was never there.

“Ok, Brucie, up on the gantry,” Tony instructed.

The workshop’s gantry wasn’t nearly as impressive as the ones in Malibu and the Tower’s balcony, since Tony’s newer models were mostly self-assembling.  But, it was serviceable enough to be used for Tony’s purpose.

Bruce hopped up without hesitation, but he looked a little lost once he was standing on the small metal platform.

“Uh…do I just stand here?”

Tony cocked his head, thoroughly enjoying Bruce’s confusion. 

“Lose the shirt first,” Tony said.  “It’s not going to be much use under the armor anyway.”  Bruce shucked off his shirt and threw it over a metal worktable.  “Ok, now just spread your feet a little more and stretch your arms out to the side.  JARVIS will do the rest.”

Bruce did as instructed, and on cue, JARVIS’s spidery arms came down through the ceiling and up through the floor.  Two arms reached out and grabbed Bruce’s wrists, maneuvering them so he was spread as wide as possible, while another pair of arms took him by the ankles and did the same.

And then they just held him.

Bruce looked up at the metal encasing his wrists and then down at his ankles, then he looked at Tony.  “Uh…isn’t something supposed to be happening?”

“Not necessarily,” Tony replied. 

Bruce laughed, but it trailed off.  “Tony?  JARVIS?”  What’s going on here?”

Tony walked slowly over to where Bruce was held spread-eagle.  “I thought that maybe, if you wanted to run away, I should just keep you where you are.”

Bruce tugged his arms, but they didn’t budge.  He was still smiling, which was a good sign, but it was definitely a nervous smile.  “Are you going to keep me prisoner here forever?  What if I need to use the bathroom?”

Tony ignored him and stepped closer.  He reached out with his good hand and cupped the side of Bruce’s face.  His salt-and-pepper stubble scratched Tony’s palm as Bruce leaned into his touch. 

“What are your safe words?” Tony asked.

Bruce’s eyebrows quirked up, and there was a challenge in his eyes.  “Green. Yellow. Red,” he answered.

“Good boy,” Tony said, stroking his cheek again.  He leaned in close.  Bruce was only an inch or two shorter than him, so he was at the perfect height for Tony to whisper into his ear.  “You know I’m not going to hurt you.”

A shudder ran through Bruce at those words.  “I know,” he said.

“Then say it.”

“You’re not going to hurt me,” he repeated.

“Good boy,” Tony said.

He stepped down for the platform, and he could feel the weight of Bruce’s eyes on him as he walked over to one of his tall Craftsman tool chests.  He took out a pair of scissors and walked back up to Bruce’s suspended form.

“Do you like those pants?”

Bruce smiled.  “They’re yours.”

“Quiet, Snowflake,” Tony said.  He leaned down to slide the scissors inside Bruce’s left pant leg and slice them slowly up the front.  He did the same for the right leg, leaving the cotton hanging in long strips.  Holding the scissors in his teeth, he palmed Bruce’s crotch through the last piece of fabric, and Bruce moaned and let his head tip back, exposing the hollow of his throat, so Tony took advantage and sucked the spot between his neck and his collarbone until Bruce gasped.

“Tony…” Bruce said, and his voice was low with warning, “Tony, you’re not supposed to be doing any strenuous activity for—ah!—at least two weeks.”

Tony, who had been slowly cutting his way through the waistband and down Bruce’s crotch, stepped back and put the blade of the scissors across Bruce’s lips.

“ _Quiet_ , Snowflake.  Save your breath.”

Tony went back to the tool chest and took out a pair of nipple clamps.  They were bright chrome clover clamps with a short chain between them, and as he walked back, he let them dangle from his hand where Bruce could see.  Bruce’s eyebrows shot up again, but he was obediently silent.

Tony bent his head to Bruce’s chest and sucked a nipple into his mouth.  Bruce gasped, and Tony could feel him try to move and shift beneath his mouth, but it was in vain.  Tony bit and licked and sucked until he could feel the nub harden between his lips and he pulled away with a wet pop.  Then, he took one of the clamps and fastened it around Bruce’s nipple.  Bruce gasped as the metal bit into his sensitive flesh, but he didn’t say a word.  The chain dangled and swung when Tony let go, and Bruce’s gasp turned into a low whine.  He repeated the same for the other nipple and stepped back to admire his work.

Bruce was gorgeous.  His cheeks were flushed and his bottom lip was swollen from where he had bitten it.  A dusky rose mark was rising on his throat and Tony was a little surprised to find how his pride flared at the sight.  Tony tugged experimentally on the chain, tightening the clamps, and Bruce’s eyes closed as he moaned again.

“I’m working one-handed, so let’s give your busy mouth something to do,” Tony said. 

He took the short chain and pulled it up, sliding it between Bruce’s teeth.  Bruce had to bend his head down to hold the chain without pulling, and even then the clamps were tight.  If he tossed his head at all, it would jostle the clamps and pull them even tighter.

Tony circled one nipple, rubbing his finger over the abused flesh and feeling the heat that radiated from him.  Then he lowered himself down, licking and kissing his way down Bruce’s sternum and abs, dipping his tongue into his navel before moving further down.  Bruce was almost fully hard already, and his flesh was hot there, too.

Tony looked up at Bruce as he knelt.  The way that Bruce’s head was bent down to hold the chain, he was forced to watch as Tony sucked the head of his cock into his mouth.  He bobbed his head a few times before letting himself relax and taking Bruce all the way down his throat.  Bruce made a strangled sound, but he didn’t lose hold of the chain.

With that encouraging sight, Tony sucked him in earnest, swallowing around him every time he felt his cock at the back of his throat.  Bruce moaned and tried to thrash, but the only leverage he could get was by arching his back or moving his head, and both movements made the clamps tighten viscously.  Tony glanced up to see Bruce watching him with watery, lust-darkened eyes, silver chain held in clenched teeth, so he hooked his left arm around Bruce thigh and doubled his effort.  Two quick, sharp gasps and Bruce came hard down Tony’s throat.  He couldn’t help but throw his head back, and his agonized cry faded into a hitching sob, but he didn’t drop the chain.

Tony fell back onto his rear and almost cried out himself as the force of the bump jarred his shoulder.  He had to stay down to catch his breath for moment, arm still wrapped loosely around Bruce’s leg.  A questioning whimper above him brought his attention back to the present, and he looked up to see Bruce, face drawn with concern but still clutching the chain in his mouth.

Tony groaned as he pulled himself up to his feet by grasping Bruce’s hip with his left hand, but he managed to get to his feet faster than he thought he would. 

“Good boy,” Tony said, laying his hand on Bruce’s cheek again. 

He eased the chain out of Bruce’s mouth and Bruce kissed Tony’s wrist before he pulled it away.

“This is going to hurt a little,” Tony said as he removed the clamps.

Bruce’s breath came in quick pants as Tony rubbed the circulation into his bruised nipples, and he let his head fall all the way back.

“Ok, Bruce, we’re done, ok?”

“Ok,” Bruce said, but his voice was shaky.

“JARVIS, let Bruce go,” Tony instructed.

Bruce’s legs were as shaky as his voice, but he kept his feet when JARVIS released him.  Bruce sighed with relief as he rolled his shoulders and shook out his wrists, but then he looked expectantly at Tony.

“Was that my punishment for leaving?” he asked hesitantly.

Tony smirked.  “I think you enjoyed that far too much for it to be punishment,” he said as he palmed Bruce’s soft cock and gave his balls an affectionate squeeze.  “You punishment is that you have to go out to dinner with me.  A formal dinner.  On the town.  And you have to wear a bowtie.  I want the date we didn’t get to have in Palm Springs.”

Bruce worried his lower lip with his teeth for a moment before he answered.  “Ok.  Just tell me when.”

“Not right now.  You still have to try on your armor.”

Bruce stopped biting his lip.  He stuck his arms out again and stood there for a second.

“What are you doing, Snowflake?”

“Uh…doesn’t JARVIS have to help me with the armor?”

Tony scoffed.  “No.  Unlike the Iron Man armor, it stretches.  You can pull it on like sweat pants and just buckle the pieces together.  JARVIS?”

The bottom of the Snowflake armor’s pod spiraled open again, and JARVIS raised the suit back up through the floor.

Bruce, bare naked, arms still stretched to the side, looked at the Snowflake’s pod and the up to the ceiling where JARVIS’s arms had held him tight.  He let his arms drop to his thighs.

“Well, son of a bitch,” Bruce said.

“Yeah, _now_ who’s side is JARVIS on?  Go suit up.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the encouragement, both for the story and just in life in general. :)


	43. Chapter 41: Alliances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce finally gets to try on his new armor, and alliances are declared.

 

The carbon fiber plates that made up the armor were stronger than steel—though not quite as strong as Tony’s gold-titanium alloy—but light on Bruce’s shoulders.  Tony buckled the pauldrons into the chest piece with the expanding straps, though Bruce was pretty sure he could manage to get in and out of the armor by himself, especially if Tony could do it with one hand.  Well, one hand and his teeth, but Bruce didn’t argue and let him do it. 

Next, Tony held out the gauntlet so that Bruce could slip his arm into it.  The plates were all lined with thick microfiber moleskin, which made it slide on like silk.  It felt amazing against his bare skin.  Tony had been serious when he said that clothes would just get in the way. 

“It might get a little hot in there,” Tony said, “but once we get the energy converters installed, they will suck some of the heat away from your skin.”

Bruce moved his arm up above his head and back down.  The rigid plates were connected to each other with breathable elastic mesh, so he could feel the air seep in whenever the pieces shifted. 

“Actually, this isn’t too bad.  It lets the air in, so it might be a little cold in winter,” Bruce said.

“We can add some thermal insulation,” Tony said, “or maybe a heating element?”  Tony helped him with his other gauntlet, the stepped back and looked at him appraisingly.  “Ok, move around and see how it feels.”

Bruce took a few cautious steps.  The armor didn’t have full boots or gloves because they agreed that the Other Guy’s feet and hands were probably left better bare, so it felt strange to be barefoot on the cold metal floor yet so protected at the same time, and the thick plating on his chest and shoulders made him feel a little top-heavy.  But he didn’t topple over, and he could move with his natural gait.  He twisted at the waist one way then the other and then bent over to touch his toes.

Tony chuckled.  “You move like an old man,” he said, laughing.

Bruce turned to look at him and shrugged—which he could do quite well.

“What, do you want me to do yoga?” Bruce said.  He reached his hands straight up and stood on one foot, placing the sole of his right foot on the inside of his left thigh in tree pose.  Actually, he _could_ do yoga.

“Not bad, Doc.  Keep going,” Tony said dismissively, turning to root through one of his tall tool chests.

So Bruce did, switching legs to try the other side.  Then, he folded himself down into eagle pose.  That one was harder because he couldn’t quite get his left foot to wrap around the back of his right thigh, but he did manage to twist one arm around the other, despite the bulk of the chest plates.  The articulation was quite amazing—

A loud zap and a blinding blue-white beam of light cut through the air, and it felt like Bruce was kicked in the middle of the chest.  The force of the blast knocked Bruce into the wall behind him and he bounced off to land hard on his hands and knees.

“What the hell?” Bruce gasped.  “Tony!”

He looked up to see Tony standing with an Iron Man gauntlet on his left hand, palm out and aimed at him.   A power cord ran from the wrist repulsor under his shirt to the arc reactor. 

“Did it hurt?” Tony asked anxiously.

Bruce took stock of his body.  He felt…fine.  Not even bruised.

“No?” he said.  He looked down at where the energy bolt hit the armor, but there was no damage.  The paint wasn’t even scratched.

Tony grinned.  “Good.  Get up. Let’s try that again.”

“Tony!”

“What?  It can take it.”

“That’s…that’s not fair!”

“Uh…” Tony looked down at his injured arm, strapped tight to his chest.  “Yeah it is.  I’m doing this with my hand tied behind my back...well, to my chest, but same thing!”

Bruce stumbled to his feet.  “It’s still a cheap shot.”

“Ok, ok, fine, whiny little snowflake,” Tony grumbled.  He turned back to the tool chest and pulled out a…metal baton.  “Here,” he said as he tossed it to Bruce.

Bruce caught in the air—good to know he could move quickly in the suit, too.  The baton was about a foot and a half long, smooth silver metal with a blue button in the middle. 

“Turn it on,” Tony said.

Bruce pressed the button, and a blue-white force field shimmered to life in front of him.  It was round, about three feet across, and slightly convex.

“I was messing around with a way to bend a repulsor field into a helmet.  That’s as far as I got.”

Bruce moved it in front of him and spun the baton around his hand.  The force field made a very satisfying lightsaber-like hum as it rotated.

“This is cool,” Bruce said.

“Ok, now can I shoot you?”

“Yeah!  Do it!”

Another blue-white blast rocketed towards Bruce, but he was prepared for the impact this time.  Feet spread, knees bent, shield held with both hands, the blast managed only to make him slide back a little and the energy dissipated with a blinding flash.

Bruce and Tony laughed with glee.

So Tony did it again, two in a row and Bruce stood his ground that time.  Then Bruce took off running across the lab, and Tony tracked him, blasting at the shield as Bruce ducked and wove to give him a moving target. 

“Sir!” JARVIS’s voice cut in between the explosions.

“Not now, J” Tony said.  “Can’t you see we’re doing important science!”

Bruce hid behind one of Tony’s beloved tool chests to catch his breath.  He could hear the squeak of Tony’s sneakers on the metal floor as he adjusted his position, so he considered his options.  He had to break cover eventually because Tony was coming around to get him from the side.  If he could get to DUM-E, he could make Tony surrender because Tony would never risk harming his bot.

“Sir, I must—“ JARVIS said again, and Bruce took advantage of JARVIS’s distraction to sprint towards DUM-E.

But Tony was waiting for him and let loose the biggest blast yet.  Bruce ducked behind the shield but kept moving.  The repulsor bolt hit the shield at an angle and, instead of dissipating, ricocheted off—

\--and hit the wall right over Steve’s head.

Tony and Bruce froze at the sight of shock and on Steve’s face.  He had ducked, thank God for super-soldier reflexes, and he was slow to stand up.  Tony lowered the gauntlet to his side and Bruce flicked the button on the shield to turn it off.

Steve looked from Tony to Bruce and back to Tony again.  “Where do I get one of _those_?” he asked, pointing to the metal baton in Bruce’s hand.

Bruce recovered first.  “Steve, we’re sorry, we weren’t—“

Steve walked up to Bruce and took the baton out of his hand.  “No harm no foul,” he said.  “But I’m confiscating this until you two can learn to play safely.  This is not an inside toy.  I came down to tell you both to clean up for dinner.”  He looked Bruce up and down, as if noticing the suit for the first time.  “And put some trousers on; we have company.”

And then Steve left.

Bruce and Tony looked at each other. “We’re never getting that shield back, you know,” Bruce said.

Tony slapped Bruce on the shoulder, though Bruce couldn’t feel it.  “No, no we’re not.”

****

Their dinner guest turned out to be Rhodey, standing at the counter and chopping vegetables to add to the huge bamboo salad bowl. 

“Rhodey!” Tony said in mock outrage.  “And you didn’t even come to say hi.”

“Hi, Tony.”

But Tony gave Rhodey a huge hug, and Rhodey leaned in close to say something in Tony’s ear.  Bruce turned away to give the friends some privacy, joining Steve at the stove instead.  He was stirring a large stockpot, which bubbled with the aroma of basil, oregano, garlic, and tomatoes.

“That smells delicious.  Need any help?”

“I’m fine.  You can set the table if you want something to do.  Natasha’s out, so it’s just the five of us.”

Bruce thought Steve sounded a bit disappointed, but his face didn’t give anything away.  But Bruce let it be, and took a stack plates and silverware to the table.  There were already two baskets of garlic bread and salad dressing, so Bruce set up the places and then went back to the fridge to look for some parmesan.  He found a block in the back and made himself busy shaving it into a bowl while Steve poured the sauce into a pot of rigatoni noodles.

Tony was fixing drinks at the bar, and he even managed to get a bottle of wine open one-handed, but Rhodey intercepted it after he poured three glasses.

“What do they have you on?” he asked.

“The good stuff,” Tony said.  “But not good enough to take away my _two hundred dollar bottle of wine_.”

Rhodey sighed and looked at Bruce, but Bruce threw up his hands.

“I’m staying out of this.”

So he looked at Steve. 

“Nope.  I’m learning to choose my battles, and this one’s all yours, Colonel.”

“ _One_ glass won’t hurt,” Bruce admitted. 

Tony snatched the bottle back.  “See.  They’re on my side.”

Rhodey sighed and gave the bottle back before carrying two of the glasses to the table, leaving Tony to figure out how he was going to get the other two glasses and the bottle to the table with just one hand.  So Bruce decided to rescue him.

Clint showed up just as Steve was serving up pasta from the big pot on the table.  They passed around the salad and the bread, with Bruce handing each of the dishes to Tony.  He felt someone kick him from under the table and looked up to see Rhodey staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.  Bruce smiled sheepishly in return, but he didn’t miss the way that Rhodey watched him like a hawk for the rest of the meal.  Well, actually, watched him kind of like the way Hawkeye was staring at him… _and_ Steve.

Ah, shit.  He guessed everyone had to figure it out sometime.

But at least the pasta was good.  Steve’s homemade marinara burst with the flavor of ripe tomatoes and fresh herbs, and he was heavy-handed with the garlic just how Bruce loved it.  There were meatballs, too, in a separate dish, and they must have been good because they were quickly devoured. 

“Steve, this is wonderful,” Bruce said.

“Yeah,” Clint added, mouth full.  “You should cook for us more often.”

Steve smiled.  “Thank the Food Network,” he said.

“You’re staying the night, right?” Tony asked Rhodey.  “JARVIS wants to run some diagnostics on the new software upgrades he installed in Malibu.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Rhodey said.  “I mostly wanted to see for myself that you were in one piece.”

Tony’s eyes fell in disappointment.  Rhodey looked to Bruce, eyebrows raised as if he was seeking…permission, maybe?  That was strange.  It was Tony’s house, after all.

“You should stay,” Bruce reassured him.

Rhodey nodded, and Tony perked up again, chattering away and telling Steve every embarrassing story he could think of involving him, Rhodey, alcohol, and vague international laws until Rhodey looked like he was ready to crawl under the table.

Eventually, Bruce and Clint collected the dishes and brought them to the kitchen.  Bruce rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher while Clint spun a plate on one finger and watched.

“So, you and Tony have been sleeping together for what…two months?  Three?” Clint asked, casually giving the plate another spin.

“Uh…” Bruce bent over to pour soap into the dispenser and hide his face, which he was sure was as bright red as Steve’s pasta sauce.  “Three?”

“Uh huh,” Clint said.  “I need details, by the way.  I have to put it in the official SHIELD file.  There’s a form.”

“Har har har, Agent Barton,” Bruce said.  He stood up, kicked the dishwasher closed with one foot, and leaned against the counter as it chugged away.  “The last thing you want is…details.”

“Ok, Doc.  Just...I know Tony can be a real asshole sometimes—well, most of the time—but he fell apart when he thought you were gone.  And Tony doesn’t fall apart.  I’m not trying to guilt trip you or anything, but I just thought you should know….”

“Clint, I know.  I know.”

Clint ran a hand through his hair and smiled and looked down at the floor.  “And you should know, Steve wants to have it out with SHIELD.  He wants them to stop treating you like…a…”

“Like a monster?”

“Yeah…”

“It’s ok, Clint. If it comes down to it...when it does….I don’t want you to have to choose—“

“I’ve already chosen, and it’s the team.  You.  Tony.  Steve.  We’re in this together, and I’m on your side.  Always.”

Bruce’s throat tightened, and he didn’t trust himself to speak for a moment.  He nodded and held out his hand, and Clint shook it.  It wasn’t until that second that Bruce realized that he had never properly shook Clint’s hand before.  The first time they met, it was in the middle of a rubble-strewn street, and after, well, it just seemed beside the point.  But Clint’s handshake was warm and firm, and exactly like he thought it would be. 

“Thank you,” Bruce said as his hand dropped back down to his side.

Clint reached past him to open the fridge and grab a beer.  Without a word, he popped the cap off on the counter and headed back to the table.

****

After dinner, Steve, Clint and Rhodey came down to the shop to admire Bruce’s new armor.

“Great color,” Clint said as soon as he saw it.  He elbowed Bruce in the ribs, and Bruce wasn’t quite sure if it was with camaraderie or sarcasm.

“What do you think, Rhodey?” Tony asked.

Rhodey crossed his arms over his chest and paused for effect. “I prefer gunmetal grey,” he said.

“Not red, white, and blue?” Tony teased, throwing a glance toward Steve.

Rhodey narrowed his eyes at Tony but didn’t respond.

Steve, meanwhile, moved to stand next to Bruce.  “It suits you,” he said.  “Uh…no pun intended.”

“Thanks, Steve.  Though I hope that I never have to use it.”

Steve nodded once.  “True, but it’s nice to know it’s there when you need it.”

“True,” Bruce admitted, but the word turned into a yawn.  Despite sleeping through the morning, he was tired, and the carb-loaded dinner was eating up the last of his energy.

“Time for us old-timers to get to bed,” Steve said.  “Come on, Clint.”

Clint looked at Steve in disbelief.  “I’m the youngest one here!  Why is it _my_ bedtime?” 

“Because if I leave you down here, the rash” he pointed to Tony “outnumbers the responsible” he pointed to Rhodey “and something is going to get blown up.  And I would rather not try to sleep through that.”

“What about _Bruce!”_ Clint asked as he was herded out the door.

“He’s the wildcard.  It depends on the day,” Steve said.  “Hopefully, it’s a good day.”  The door closed behind him with an electronic click.

Rhodey positively beamed at the praise from his childhood idol.  “See?  Captain America thinks I’m the responsible one.”

Tony snorted.  “He doesn’t know you very well.  Let me remind you of Ibiza and Monaco and my 30th birthday.”

Rhodey’s face fell.  “That was _one time_ , Tony.  One. Time.”

“Yeah, which we repeated over and over again.”

While the two friends fell into the old, easy pattern of trash talking, Bruce busied himself with plugging one of the half-assembled gamma converters into JARVIS’s relays and starting a simulation.  He was sure he could at least double the output that Tony managed to achieve, but he wouldn’t know for sure until he had a gamma source to try it on.

“Tony,” Rhodey’s voice cut through his focus.  “The real reason I came was to try to figure out exactly who—or what—you ran into in the desert.”

“I already told you what I know.  Now how about you put your cards on the table.”

“I’m not holding any cards.  But Ross is, and it’s a full house.  He’s recruiting mercs, all ex-military, probably some of his old contacts.  But these guys aren’t your normal, run-of-the-mill mercenaries.  Blackwater won’t even touch these guys because their psych evals are off the charts bad.”

“So he’s collecting a bunch of military crazies to go Hulk hunting?” Bruce said.  “That sounds pretty…normal in my world.”

Rhodey’s eyes told him that he had no idea what Bruce’s “world” was like.  And Tony fell silent, looking from Bruce to Rhodey and back again.

“What happened to his base?” Bruce asked, trying to keep his voice light and casual.

“It was blown to shit.  There were some injuries, no casualties.  Now everyone in the armed forces knows that he was up to…something.  But no one knows what that ‘something’ is.”

Bruce felt tired.  He was so tired to running.

“Just keep you head down,” Rhodey said.  “Both of you.  Stay put.  There’s no way he can get you if you’re here.  Whatever he’s doing, he wants to stay quiet, so storming Stark Tower isn’t exactly going to be in his best interest.”

Bruce nodded.  He was trapped.  Again.

“And, you have to know, the military has nothing to do with this—nothing directly at least.  I’m on your side.”

“As long as you get to choose,” Tony said.  “You were Colonel Rhodes long before you were War Machine.”

Rhodey looked sharply at Tony.  “There’s always a choice.  And I was Rhodey, Tony Stark’s best friend, long before I was Colonel Rhodes.”

Bruce folded his arms over his chest and sat heavily in a desk chair.  “Thanks,” he said, but it didn’t sound sincere even to his own ears.

Rhodey sighed.  “Look, I didn’t mean to make you nervous.  I’m just saying that I’m looking out for you as well as I can.”

Bruce smiled and looked up, and it was easier to put sincerity in his voice this time.  “Thank you, Jim.  I really do appreciate it.”

“I’m going to sleep,” Rhodey said.  “I’ll make some calls tomorrow morning and I’ll let you know what turns up.  Maybe a trip to Washington is in order, too.”

Tony clasped Rhodey on the shoulder with his left hand.  “Thanks, Rhodey.  Keep us posted.  JARVIS will show you to a guest room, but I think we’re going to stay down here for a little while.”

Rhodey looked at Bruce.  “Ok, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Morose thoughts churned through Bruce’s thoughts, and he was too caught up in his emotions to do any more than wish Rhodey a cursory good night.  It didn’t register that he and Tony were alone again until Tony hopped up on the desk in front of Bruce, hooking his feet under Bruce’s chair to pull him closer.

“He was trying to make you feel better,” Tony said when Bruce wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“He did.  I made myself feel worse.”

Tony cocked his head to one side as if trying to hear something Bruce wasn’t saying.

“What do you want to do now that all the good boys have gone to bed?” he asked Bruce.

“I want to see those files.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the support. Reading all your thoughtful comments really makes my day. And tomorrow's my birthday...just sayin'. :)


	44. Chapter 42: Worth It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony shows Bruce the files he took from Ross.

 

Steve’s rigatoni sat like a stone in Tony’s stomach.  His shoulder hurt, too, from his neck all the way down his ribs and across his chest, and it had nothing to do with the lack of alcohol or prescription medication in his bloodstream.

He wanted to deny Bruce’s request, to tell him that he deleted the files, maybe, or that he simply wouldn’t do it.  But, he heard himself saying, “JARVIS, give Bruce full access to the Project Snowflake files.”

“As you wish, Sir.”

And then Tony fell into a chair and hugged his arm to his chest as Bruce stepped over to the holographic display.  Bruce took a pair of glasses out of his pocket—his old, bent pair wire frames, since Tony hadn’t gotten around to making him a new pair of Stark Glasses—and put them on.  He crossed his arms and cocked his head a little to the side, as if wondering where to start.

“JARVIS, give me the records from Brazil.”

A stack of holographic files appeared in front of Bruce, labeled with dates.  Bruce didn’t touch them.  “Search for the mission report on Blonsky’s raid.”

A text file appeared in front of Bruce, scrolling slowly as he read, but Tony was too far away to see what he was so interested in.  Bruce touched the screen to scroll faster, and his eyes narrowed as he skimmed the document.

“I don’t see anything…” Bruce murmured.  Then, louder, he said, “JARVIS, there was a dog…is there anything about a dog?”

“One moment, Doctor.  Ah, yes.”

A single line of text in the middle of the document brightened. 

“Unfortunately, it looks as though the dog was killed in the raid.  He was shot with a tranquilizer dart, and the amount of sedatives caused cardiac arrest.  It would have been a painless death, Doctor Banner.”

Bruce pushed up his glasses so he could pinch the bridge of his nose and rub his eyes before letting the glasses fall back into place.

“Well, I guess it’s better than starving to death.  He saved my life that night.”

“What was his name?” Tony asked.

The sound of Tony’s voice startled Bruce, and he spun around.  “Uh…Dog.  I called him Dog. _Cão._ ”

Tony nodded and repeated, “ _Cão.”_

Bruce smiled a tight little smile.  “I always thought that he was killed…but I thought, maybe, just maybe if I went back one day, he’d be there.  I never had a chance to go back, though.  Forward.  I always had to move forward.”

Bruce turned back to the display and swiped the files away.  He was quiet for a long time before he asked, “So, what did you see that made you think you needed to take all of this?”

Tony was hoping he wouldn’t ask.  He thought that Bruce would try to wade through the maze of files himself and possibly never find the videos.  But, no, Bruce was smarter than that.

“Show him, J.”

A long list of files, labeled alphanumerically, appeared.  Bruce flicked the screen to see exactly how long the list stretched.

“Oh,” he said.  “I think I know what this is.”

He opened a file in the middle.  A video appeared, with the same scientist with the same clipboard behind the same partition that Tony had seen before.  And there was the same table, with Bruce strapped down on it.  But this video was different.  Bruce was bleeding out, each drop measured as it poured from his lacerated wrist, pale as a corpse, but eyes bright and aware.

Bruce closed the file.  He opened another other.

In the next one he opened, he was screaming as acid was dripped onto his arm.

Bruce closed that one quickly.  He reached for another.

“Stop,” Tony said.  His voice sounded more like a croak than a command.

Bruce’s eyebrows were drawn together in confusion when he turned to look at Tony.   His face was mild, as calm and collected as he ever was, as if he was looking at nothing but boring statistics or faceless data.  His utter detachment chilled Tony to the bone.  “I’m sorry,” Bruce said, but his voice was flat and emotionless.

Tony couldn’t look him in the eyes, so he buried his face in his hand and waved him on.  Bruce looked at him for a moment before turning back to the screen.

Bruce looked at a few more files, though he did put them on mute.  Tony kept his eyes averted, so all he could see was the flicker of changing light reflected on the smooth floor of the lab, but his imagination was strong enough to supply the details for him.

The display went dark and Bruce sighed.  “I just don’t see it…” he murmured.  “What ‘s so important?  JARVIS, what was the most recent research Ross was conducting?”

“Ross was researching the possibilities of creating a serum from the _Sinningia guttata_ plant as a neutralizing agent for the Hulk. _”_

Bruce snorted.  “Well, that’s not going to get him very far.  I ruled that out _years_ ago.”

“There is some research on RG-27, but it looks to have been abandoned some time ago,” JARVIS added.

“Hmm…that’s too bad.  That might have been useful.”

“What’s RG-27?” Tony asked.

“Another neutralizing agent.  It breaks down gamma photons,” Bruce explained.  “But it’s difficult to work with because it’s most effective in liquid or gas form.  I messed around with it for a while, but I had to stop.”

“Why?”

“It makes me hallucinate if the dose isn’t just right, and the Other Guy produces so much gamma radiation that I have to pretty much take a bath in the stuff for it to work.  It’s just not practical.”  Bruce sighed.  “I was hoping…well, I thought that maybe Ross’s team figured something out, or thought of something I haven’t yet.”

“Like how to _kill_ you?”

“Well, yeah.  Or something.”

Tony felt sick.   He felt dizzy and nauseous, and the throbbing in his shoulder was creeping up his neck to give him a headache.  “Do you want this stuff then?”

“No, I don’t think there’s anything I can use.  Go ahead and give it all back—“

“JARVIS, trash it,” Tony said.  “Delete it permanently.”

“No, JARVIS, wait,” Bruce said.  “Tony, there’s no reason for you to stay on Ross’s radar.  It would make me feel a lot better if you gave it back.  He would have one less reason to come after you.”

“Giving it back would be tantamount to admitting that I was wrong to take it, and I’m _not_ wrong.  _He’s_ wrong to have it to begin with.  We’re not the bad guys here, Bruce.”

Bruce took off his glasses and looked at the floor while he wiped them on his shirt.  His shoulders slumped, his spine collapsed forward, and his face looked weary.  He looked like the old Bruce Banner, the one Tony met on the helicarrier, the one that had first kneeled on his white shag carpeting and nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of a kind word.

“You can say that,” Bruce said, quietly but clearly.  “I’m not always the good guy.”

Tony was by his side in the space of a heartbeat, and he shook Bruce by the shoulder.  “Yes, you are.  You’re one of the best men I’ve ever met.”

Bruce shrugged off Tony’s hand and didn’t answer.  He grabbed the holographic files and threw them into the virtual trashcan.  Then, he shoved his hands into his pockets and walked out of the room.

Struck dumb and paralyzed for just a second too long, Tony wasn’t fast enough to catch up to Bruce at the elevator.

“JARVIS, where is Bruce heading?”

“Doctor Banner has requested to stop at his floor.  He has also requested not to be disturbed.”

Tony slammed his hand against the closed elevator door.  It was his private elevator, and it was the only one that ran directly between the penthouse, the different Avenger’s floors, and the labs.  He could either use another elevator, but he would have to transfer on a different floor; or, he had to wait for this one to return.

He waited.

He really needed to build another elevator.  Well, he supposed, if his arm wasn’t strapped across his chest, he would use the suit and go through the window.

He _really_ needed to build another elevator.  A _private_ private elevator.

Finally, the elevator returned.

“Bruce’s floor, JARVIS!” Tony said as soon as he entered.

“Sir, Doctor Banner requested—“

“I don’t give a fuck, J.”

“As you wish, Sir.”

Tony tried to use the few seconds he had to plan what he would say to Bruce.  He could go with a traditional “I’m sorry,” but he really wasn’t sorry.  He could tell him that it had been a mistake to hide the files from him, which was true, but that wouldn’t do much good now.  And “I love you” hadn’t gone over very well the first time.

The elevator opened.

“Sir, may I suggest—“ JARVIS started to say.

“I _suggest_ you unlock his door before I replace you with SIRI.”

The electronic lock disengaged with a click.

Tony took a deep breath before he pushed the door open.  Bruce’s apartment was dim inside, lit only by the city lights spilling in through the bare windows.  The neon glow reflected off the polished bamboo floor, which made the room seem both warmer and emptier than it was.  Tony crept into the living room and headed to the open bedroom door.

“What do you want, Tony?”

Bruce’s voice and his sharp tone made Tony jump.  He turned around to see Bruce sitting on the floor against the couch.  He was folded into a half-lotus, head bowed, and Tony presumed that he was trying to meditate.

Everything that Tony had rehearsed in the elevator promptly fled his brain as he stared at the lonely figure sitting in the dark.

Bruce sighed deeply.

“Come here,” Tony commanded.

Brown eyes, bright with reflected half-light, snapped up to regard him, weary and wary.

“Right now.” Tony put everything he had into those words, all of his confidence, his bravado, his need, and his love.

Bruce rose to his feet, took two steps towards Tony, and sank to his knees in front of him.  Tony ran a hand through his curls, and tightened his fingers enough to make Bruce gasp.

“You are _mine_.  That’s why I took those files.  No one else has permission to touch you, to take you from me, to hurt you—not in the past, present or future.  And I will fight for you, even when you don’t think you’re worth fighting for.  _Especially_ then because that’s when you need it most.”

Bruce tried to shake his hand off, but he held tight and forced him to meet his eyes.  After a second, Bruce stilled again, but his eyes were watering and his jaw was clenching and unclenching in an effort to stave off the tears.  After he was sure that Bruce wouldn’t try to move again, Tony let him go so he could lower himself down in front of him.  He moved his left hand to hold Bruce’s face and rubbed his thumb in small circles around his temple.

A single, deep sob escaped from Bruce before he squeezed his eyes and mouth shut, but the tears still escaped down his cheeks.

“I’m so scared,” Bruce wept.  “I’m scared all of the time, and that’s _not fair._   This isn’t the way it was supposed to be.  And it’s just not worth it.”

As he spoke, Bruce moved his hands to cover his eyes, breaking Tony’s contact.  He bent over until his forehead nearly touched his knees, curling in on himself as tightly as he could.  Tony tried to move with him, but the sling and his aching shoulder hindered him, and he ended up laying on the floor, leaning on his left elbow as he tried to keep his eyes level with Bruce’s. 

“No, this isn’t the way life was supposed to be,” Tony said.  He took one of Bruce’s hands and slid it between the buttons on his shirt and pressed it to the arc reactor, cold and heavy beneath their hands.  “But I wouldn’t trade any of it because now I have _you_.  And you are so worth it.”

Bruce opened his eyes, and Tony could feel shaking fingers tracing the outline of the arc reactor where metal met flesh.  Tears still ran down his face, but his breath was no longer hitching.  Tony raised himself back on his knees.

“Up, Brucie,” he urged.  “Get up because you have to help me up, too.”

Bruce got to his feet and wiped his forearm across his face before lifting Tony up by his elbow.  Bruce wasn’t very steady on his feet, but he could walk well enough to get to the bedroom.  Tony hadn’t ever spent much time in Bruce’s bedroom because they both favored the penthouse.  Still, it was quiet and comfortable, and most importantly, there was a somewhere soft to lie down. 

The bed was a low platform bed with a soft down duvet, more than big enough for the both of them.  Tony sat on the edge and pulled Bruce down with him.  A bath might help calm Bruce down, but the thought of the effort it would take to get them both in and out of the tub left Tony feeling exhausted.  So, he just wriggled out of the constricting sling and tugged off Bruce’s pants and his own before throwing back the covers.

Bruce tried to check his shoulder, but Tony shrugged him off.  “Leave it,” he said.  “It’s fine.”  And Bruce didn’t fuss any more. 

He lay down on his side, his back to Tony, and curled his knees into his chest.  So Tony buried his face in Bruce’s hair so his breath tickled the nape of his neck.  He could feel a shiver run through Bruce.

“I’m right here.  I’m going to take care of you,” Tony whispered.

Bruce turned a little towards him.  “You can’t even take care of yourself.”

Tony pressed closer to Bruce.  “That’s what I have you for.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the awesome comments and birthday wishes!


	45. Chapter 43: Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony finally gets his date with Bruce.

Bruce was awakened by a kiss.

It was chaste but sure, and Bruce couldn’t help but smile against those soft, persistent lips.

He blinked open to see the pale dawn lighting the room in grey shadows.  Tony was beside him.  He had been all night, though he didn’t think he slept very much.  Bruce’s sleep had been haunted and restless. Twice, he woke in tears without even remembering the dream.  But every time he woke, Tony rubbed his back and whispered reassurances into his ear until sleep claimed him once again.

“Rhodey and Steve want to know if you want to go running with them,” Tony said.  “They insisted I asked, or else I wouldn’t have woken you.”

A run would help his mood, help him clear his head and refocus his energy.

But then again, the bed was soft and warm, and Tony’s arm was draped across his waist in just the right way to make him never want to move again.

“Go,” Tony said, moving his arm to give his hip a shove.  “You wouldn’t be thinking about it for so long if you didn’t want to go.”

That was true.  He flipped back the covers and went to find his running shoes.  Tony texted a quick message, then rolled over to his side of the bed, grabbed his pillow to hug it to his chest and buried his face in it. 

“I’ll be right here when you come back,” Tony said, but his voice was muffled by a huge yawn into the pillow.

Bruce sat on the edge of the bed to lace his shoes.  “Take some of that medication and go back to sleep,” he said.

“It’s in the penthouse,” Tony said.  “I’m not leaving the bed.  Too comfortable.”

“You won’t be for long if you don’t have those pills.  I’ll get them for you before I go.”

Tony mumbled something that wasn’t a protest, but then he rolled over to watch Bruce leave.

“What are _those?”_ he said, pointing at Bruce’s feet.

“Uh…shoes.”  Well, they were grey and stained and ripped, but it was nothing a little duct tape couldn’t fix.

“You need new ones, Bruce.  You’re going to blow out your knees in those.”

Bruce leaned over and kissed Tony’s cheek.  “You can buy me new shoes later.”

Tony settled back, smug, as if he had won an argument.

****

After he fetched Tony’s medication and made him swallow a dose of painkillers and antibiotics, he met Rhodey and Steve in the Tower lobby.  They were happy to see him, though it felt strange that they had no idea what happened in the lab after they left.  Bruce was grateful because it made him forget, too, for a little while.  And, after the first two miles, all he could focus on was keeping up with the two much younger men.

They ran about five miles, according to Rhodey’s GPS.  They ran the footpaths of Central Park, past early-morning joggers and dog walkers.  Most of the sidewalks and paths were wide enough for only two people, so Bruce dropped behind to let Rhodey keep pace with Steve.  After all, it wasn’t every day that Rhodey got to run next Captain America.  And, that way, Bruce was entertained by the way that people practically broke their necks trying to watch them run past.  One lady actually did run into a pole because she was too busy gawking at Steve to watch where she was going.

By the time they arrived back at the Tower, Bruce was soaked in sweat and his legs felt like his joints were too loose to keep him standing, but his head finally felt like it was screwed on right.  He was also ravenous.

The three of them trundled up to the communal kitchen to cook breakfast—and were surprised to see Tony sitting on the living room couch, flipping through channels.

“Hey,” he said cheerfully, “I made breakfast.”

He gestured to the array of take-out containers on the coffee table in front of him.

“Slaved all day over a hot stove, I see,” Rhodey said, but he plopped down on the couch next to Tony and grabbed a cardboard container.

Tony smacked his hand.  “That’s Bruce’s,” he said.  He pointed to an illegible scribble on the box.  “See?  B-R-U-C-I-E.”

“Sheesh,” Rhody said, “I can barely read your writing when you’re using your _right_ hand.”  But he handed the container to Bruce and picked up another one instead.  He turned it over looking for a name, but it wasn’t labeled, so he popped it open to reveal maple bacon waffles.

Bruce’s container had banana-walnut waffles covered in a honey glaze that oozed over his fork as he cut into it.  Steve grabbed one at random that had a strawberry glaze, but he seemed pleased with the choice. 

There were more containers with crispy bacon and sausage links, potatoes and sautéed onions, and peanut butter chocolate-glazed waffles, blueberry waffles, and plain waffles.  They ate and watched Dog Cops on DVR—apparently Steve was familiar with the show, too, because he knew all the characters’ names.  Eventually, Bruce and Rhodey shuttled the empty containers to the kitchen because Tony and Steve wouldn’t leave the couch before the episode was over.

Full, tired, and feeling so much better than he did twelve hours ago, Bruce was ready to take on the challenge of finishing up the gamma converters and installing them into the armor.  But, as he rose to excuse himself, Steve grasped his arm.

“Bruce, I wanted to talk to you,” he said.

Bruce glanced around, but Rhodey and Tony didn’t seem to know what Steve was planning to say.  “Okay,” he said slowly as he sat down again.

“I want to talk to SHIELD.  I want _all_ of us to talk to them about the way they treat you.”

A familiar sense of unease settled over Bruce.  “Ah, yeah, Clint told me last night.  I think we have enough enemies to worry about without making more.”

Steve’s eyes softened around the edges.  “You’re assuming that they’re going to fight us on this.”

“It’s a pretty safe assumption.  Ross was working with SHIELD for a while…longer than I’ve been working with them…for them.”

“But they have to know where we stand,” Steve said.  “And if that’s what happens, then that’s what happens.”

Bruce rubbed his left hand with his right hand, over and over until he saw Tony watching him.  He stopped, suddenly self-conscious. 

“Do I have a choice in the matter?” he asked softly.

Tony made a small noise that was half a squeak and half a groan.

Steve was taken aback.  Apparently, he assumed that _Bruce_ wouldn’t fight him on this, either.

“Of course you do,” Steve said.  But the second the words came out of his mouth, Bruce knew that Steve said it only because he thought it was the right thing to say.

“I want you to be safe.  I don’t want Natasha and Clint to have to choose a side.  I want the Avengers to stay the Avengers as long as they can.  And, if it means that my private room at SHIELD is behind two feet of adamantium, then I’m willing to put up with that.”

 Steve looked long and hard at Bruce before he slowly nodded.  “Ok, if that’s what you say.  Tony?”

“I say we replace the oxygen in their ventilation system with helium, then see how in charge they feel.”

Rhodey snickered.

But Bruce was relieved that Steve was unprepared to take it any farther.  His personal enemies should not become team business, he thought. 

He rose again, and no one stopped him this time.  “I’m going to hit the showers and finish the work in the shop,” he said as an excuse, and he pretended that he didn’t feel three pairs of eyes following him to the door.

****

Calibrating the converters wasn’t nearly as difficult as Tony made it out to be.  Tony just didn’t have the background in thermonuclear dynamics that Bruce did, so, naturally it would be harder for him.  Then again, Bruce thought, he would never been able to design the armor without Tony, so it was a fair trade-off.

He was finished by the time Tony entered the shop.  Nevertheless, when he looked at the clock, two hours had passed. 

“Hey,” Bruce greeted him.  “These are ready to be put into the suit.”

Tony nodded.  His eyes were dark, and his lips were parted in that way that meant that he was thinking hard enough about something that his brain needed a little extra oxygen.

“A new suit for you will be delivered tonight,” Tony said.

Bruce screwed the base of the converter into the suit, and the whir of the power drill gave him a second to formulate a response.

“Thanks,” he said.

“So that date--”

“Whenever you want, Tony,” Bruce said, cutting him off.  He didn’t mean for it to sound harsh, but he couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice.

“Ok.” Tony took his tone in stride.  “Tonight.  Be ready by eight.”

Bruce nodded, then he tightened every screw he could see just to create some noise and avoid the inevitable silence.

“Do you…need any help?” Tony asked.

“No, I’m almost done.  The mountings are installed, so I just need to slide the converters in place and secure them.”

“Ok…good…good.  Do you want to put it on again?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.  I know it fits just fine.”

“Ok,” Tony sounded lost, and Bruce didn’t want to turn around to see the look on his face.  “I’ll just...Just see you at eight, ok?  Meet me upstairs?”

“In the penthouse?”

“Yeah.  That’s perfect.”

“Ok, Tony.  Eight tonight.”

And then Tony was gone.

Bruce sighed and then sagged against the empty armor.  It shifted under his weight, as if it was trying to get away from him.

****

True to Tony’s word, there was a garment bag with a new suit waiting for him when he finally returned to his apartment.  Bruce looked at it for a minute, but he didn’t bother to open it before going to the shower.

Bruce scrubbed off the day’s layer of sweat and grease.  He felt slightly guilty for not helping Tony with his own shower, but Tony had dealt with plenty of injuries on his own before.  He was sure Tony knew how to wash his hair one-handed, and he could redress his shoulder when he went upstairs.

The last few hours alone gave Bruce a chance to think.  The morning had gone fine, but the conversation with Steve left a bitter taste in his mouth.  He knew Steve meant well—Steve never meant anything other than well.  But he wanted to drag the entire team down just for him, as if that would make Bruce feel better about his life instead of worse.  No matter how he had seen the world change, Steve still couldn’t shake that dogged idealism.  He didn’t realize that Fury and SHIELD were going to do whatever the hell they wanted, and all he would accomplish would be to create a rift between the Avengers and one of the world’s biggest watchdog organizations.  No good could come of it. 

Bruce turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist.  The suit was waiting for him, still wrapped in its nylon cocoon.  A strange sense of foreboding washed over Bruce as he unzipped the bag to reveal the contents.  The pants and jacket were black with thin grey pinstripes, and there was a matching vest, too.  There was also a plain white shirt.  And a dark purple bowtie.

Well, it looked normal enough.

Bruce put the suit on and looked in the mirror.  He looked tired.  But he promised Tony he would go, so he shrugged on the jacket and headed up to the penthouse.

****

He arrived early because he figured he could help Tony get ready if he got stuck and they would still be able to make it to whatever reservation Tony had made.

But the penthouse door opened to reveal Tony already dressed, impeccable as always in a dark grey pants and an AC/DC concert shirt pulled over a bright red dress shirt.  His arm was tied up in a black sling, so he must have had someone help him redress the wound already.  A sharp stab of jealousy lanced through Bruce’s gut.

“You’re early!” Tony said with surprise.  “I…uh…I’m not ready,” he said.

Bruce raised an eyebrow.   He looked ready enough.

“It’s ok.  I’ll wait,” Bruce said.  He headed toward the couch in the sunken living room, but what he saw made him freeze.

In the middle of the white shag carpeting, there was a soft red blanket.  Silver candlesticks held two lit tapers, and there were two places set on the blanket.

“What’s this?” Bruce asked.  “I thought you wanted to go out on the town.”

Tony half-shrugged, then winced when the movement pulled on his shoulder.   He gestured to the floor-to-ceiling windows where the Chrysler Building shined over the sparkling Manhattan skyline. 

“We are, technically, _on_ the town.  But I thought that you would prefer to stay in.”

“Tony…I…thank you.”

The brilliant smile on Tony’s face dispelled the last of Bruce’s anxiety.

Tony took Bruce’s hand and guided him over to a cushion set on one corner of the blanket.

“Sit here,” he said.

Bruce folded his legs underneath him.  “Do you want a hand?”

“Actually, I might,” Tony said.  He reached into his pocket and produced a length of black silk.  “How much do you trust me?” he asked.

“With everything,” Bruce said.

“Good.  Put this on.  I can’t tie it with one hand.”

Bruce took the cloth out his hand, doubled it over, and tied it around his eyes.  He was immediately hyperaware of the sound of his own breathing and the heat of Tony’s body right next to him.

Tony’s thumb brushed against his lower lip.  “Good boy,” he said.  “Now, you have to be patient for me.  Ok?”

Bruce nodded, then shifted his weight so he could stay in the same position for a while without his legs falling asleep.

He listened as Tony traveled back and forth between the living room and the kitchen several times.   The strange electromagnetic pull of the arc reactor signaled that Tony was close as he settled onto the blanket next to Bruce.  Savory scents wafted towards him: saffron, garlic and olive oil.  He could hear Tony’s breathing, soft and shallow, and the rustle of expensive fabric as Tony moved.

A warm, calloused hand cupped his cheek, rubbing across his cheekbone, thumb brushing the bridge of his nose and tracing the edge of the blindfold.  It tucked an errant curl behind his ear before running down the side of his neck and smoothing the bowtie against his throat.

“You are so handsome,” Tony said.  “You should always wear a bowtie.  I think they were invented especially with you in mind.  Can I make that a rule?  That you always wear a bowtie?”

Bruce smiled at Tony’s playful tone.  “If you like, Tony,” he said.

Tony clicked his tongue.  “No.  We’ll save it for special occasions.  That way, I know that it’s meant for me and no one else.”

Then the hand was gone, and Bruce had to fight the urge to follow its warmth.

“Hungry, Snowflake?”

Bruce hadn’t eaten anything since the waffles that morning.  His stomach had been so tied in knots that food was more trouble than it was worth.  But now, resting and relaxed with Tony and surrounded by the smell of food, he was hungry.  He nodded.

“Good.  I ordered in.”

Then there was a spoon against his lips and Bruce opened up obediently.  This was clumsier than when Tony fed him by hand, both because of the angle and the fact that Tony was using his left hand.  But they managed not to spill any on either the blanket or Bruce’s new shirt.

“What do you taste?”

Bruce considered it carefully.  “Saffron,” he said, but that was obvious.  “Cheese.  Rice.  Spinach.  It’s risotto.”

“Good boy.  More?”

Bruce nodded and was rewarded with another spoonful.  It grew easier as they developed a rhythm, and Bruce felt himself sinking down into that peaceful place where he knew that Tony was taking care of him, that he didn’t have to worry about anything else, at least for a little while.  But a stray thought flitted across Bruce brain, and he wondered what Tony was eating  if he was so busy taking care of Bruce.

So, after the spoon next left his mouth, he reached out and laid a light hand on Tony’s wrist.  He followed it as it returned to the bowl and felt it as Tony took a bite from the same spoon.  He sighed in relief.

Tony dropped the spoon into the bowl and grasped Bruce’s hand to raise it to his cheek.  He rubbed his cheek against the inside of Bruce’s wrist, and the stiff hair of his goatee scratched the sensitive skin.

“Making sure I’m taking care of myself?” Tony asked, and his voice was warm and a little proud.

Bruce nodded. 

Tony kissed his wrist and laid it down by his side again.

“Apples?” Tony asked.

Bruce nodded again, and he very much enjoyed nipping the pieces of crisp fruit from Tony’s fingers.  The apples were better, Bruce mused, because he could hear Tony crunching on his own.

There was garlic bread, too, with mozzarella melted on top, but Bruce was starting to feel full and heavy.  After the emotional stress of the long day and the night before, all he really wanted to do was to lie down and sleep.  So he shook his head the next time Tony offered him a bite of food and crawled a little closer.  He felt around with his hands, finding Tony’s side and pushing away various dishes so he could stretch out with his head in Tony’s lap.

Tony made a noise that sounded suspiciously like “awww,” but he let Bruce find a comfortable place as he finished off the last of the risotto and bread.  Dishes clinked as they were stacked clumsily by the edge of the blanket, and then Tony nudged him upwards.

“Let’s get more comfortable, Snowflake.  But you have to help me with this a little bit.”

A hand on his shoulder made him sit up, and then tugged the suit jacket off his shoulders, so he helped remove it and the heavy fabric rustled as Tony draped it over the arm of the couch.  Tony took his hands, first his left then his right, and place them on the edge of his shirt so Bruce could guess what he wanted.  Carefully, he helped Tony ease his arm out of the sling and gently removed his shirt by lifting it over his left shoulder first, then peeling it down his right.  The button-down underneath was easier but infinitely more satisfying to remove.  Bruce fumbled the first button, but the rest were easy, and he could slide his fingers between the edges of the shirt and trace down Tony’s chest and abs.  His fingers explored the edge of the arc reactor, smooth and rough and hot and cold all at once, and Tony shivered but didn’t try to stop him.

When Tony was shirtless, he pushed Bruce’s hands away so he could undo the buttons on Bruce’s shirt.  He loosened his collar and pulled the shirt tails out his waistband before working each button open one by one.  He gave the bowtie one last affectionate touch before undoing it and letting fall to the floor.

“It’s like unwrapping a present,” Tony said.  “But it’s shame it has to go—you’ve manage to learn how to tie it perfectly.”

Bruce licked his lips.  “Thank you, Tony.”

But then Tony’s lips were on his, and his head was cradled in one strong hand as Tony kissed him breathless.  Bruce moved his hand to palm Tony through his pants.  But there was no reaction.

Tony pulled his hand away and Bruce felt a pang of loss wash over him in response.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, panting a little after the intensity of the kiss.  “It’s the pain meds…I just…”

Of course.  Bruce was a doctor.  He knew how these things went.  So he smiled and shook his head and pressed his lips against Tony’s again until he had to push Bruce back to take a breath.

“My beautiful, beautiful Snowflake,” Tony gasped, then pulled him in for another kiss.

“Lie down,” Tony said when he broke away again. 

Bruce obeyed, lying with his head once again in Tony’s lap.  Tony pushed the shirt down around his shoulders, then stroked across his chest with light fingertips.  Bruce couldn’t help the full-body shiver that was induced by the electric tingles his fingers left in their wake.  But his reaction encouraged Tony to keep going.  He brushed his fingers across Bruce’s chest, up around the muscles of his arm, tracing the curves of biceps and triceps, and down further to lightly squeeze Bruce’s hand.  Then he repeated it on the other side.

By the time Tony was exploring the hollows of his throat, up along his jawline to tease the curve of his ears and eyebrows, Bruce was lost to the world.  His body felt soothed and boneless and on fire all at the same time, and he made no resistance when Tony undid his belt and signaled him to raise his hips so he could slide it off.  Using the belt, Tony twisted it around Bruce’s wrists and pulled them overhead.  He couldn’t hold the belt in his right hand, but he leaned over so he could slide the loose end of the belt underneath him and sit on it and effectively hold Bruce’s hands in place.

Then his fingertips were back on Bruce’s face, brushing his eyelids and down his nose and Tony’s thumb rubbed his lips again.  Then, the digit pushed inside and Bruce nipped at him, holding his thumb between his teeth for a second before sucking it hard against the roof of his mouth.  Tony groaned a little, and Bruce felt a twitch beneath the place his head rested in Tony’s lap, but nothing more.

Bruce released Tony’s thumb, allowing him to move his hands to rub through the hair on his chest and circle his nipple.  Tony tweaked and pinched it, and Bruce gasped, so he did the same with the other one.  But Tony didn’t linger for long, and instead tickled down his stomach and sides before popping open the button to his pants.  Bruce raised his hips off the floor, and Tony took it as a signal to push his pants down, freeing his growing erection.

As soon as Tony’s fist encircled his dick, Bruce thought he was going to explode.  But Tony backed off immediately, stroking with just one finger up and down the length until Bruce whimpered with need, trying to buck his hips towards that hand.

“Uh uh, Snowflake,” Tony admonished, “be gentle.”  But Tony’s voice was soft and husky, and Bruce knew that he was enjoying the sight.

Bruce licked lips made dry with ragged breathing, and it must have looked like an invitation, because Tony bent down and kissed him and grasped his dick again at the same time.  Bruce moaned, opening his mouth for the kiss as Tony stroked him hard, gathering the moisture at the tip with his thumb and swirling it around the head. 

Bruce was teased mercilessly as Tony kissed him and stroked him and kissed him some more.  He would keep a tight grip on Bruce’s cock only as long as Bruce was kissing him; whenever Bruce came up for air, Tony let go and he was left feeling cold and aching with loss.

Bruce was drowning so deep in physical sensation that he couldn’t hear anything except for the low, growling, needy sounds he was making in the back of his throat—

\--until Tony froze and he heard him say, “Oh shit.  Steve, this is…well, this is probably exactly what it looks like.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I mean to write plot...but then things like this just...happen!


	46. Chapter 44: Ambush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Bruce find out the reason for Steve's interruption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you see that little warning that says "Author Chooses Not To Use Warnings"? Yeah, this is where that's all going to start to happen. So, I'm going to post the warnings (when they apply) in the end notes, so you can see if it's something that you just don't want to read. I'm really not trying to freak anyone out because we're all here to have fun, right? But I don't want to spoil anything, either. And I hope I don't lose any readers, but I understand if some people just don't want to read certain things. So, if you do decide not to read some chapters, please stick around and pick up the story when it goes back to being a little cuddlier, ok?

Bruce scrambled off Tony’s lap and ripped the blindfold off his eyes with his hands still tied together.  Tony couldn’t do much more than just sit there, eyes flitting back and forth between Bruce, shirt unbuttoned and pants around his knees, and Steve, who was wearing his spangled uniform with his shield slung across his back, one hand thrown over his eyes.

Steve was the first to break the awkward silence.

“I don’t have the time to even start processing this right now.”  He rubbed his face before uncovering his eyes, but by then, Bruce had managed to shake off the belt tied around his wrists and pull his pants back up—not necessarily in that order.  “We’ve been called in.  You have ten minutes until pickup and we’ll be briefed in the air.  Bruce, this might be a good time to try on that new armor.  Tony, you’re grounded.”

“If you think for one second that I’m going to stay behind—“

“You’re coming with us, but you’re on the comms, not the field, until you can operate the Iron Man armor.  War Machine will take the skies.  Ten minutes.”

And Steve spun on his heel and nearly ran to the elevator that JARVIS had open and waiting for him.

“JARVIS,” Tony barked as he hauled himself to his feet, “what happened to the Date Night Protocol?”  

“Sir, you indicated that you did not wish to be disturbed in any way unless the sky was indeed falling.  Captain Rogers indicated that it was a matter of equal importance and overrode my protocols.”

“JARVIS, you’re fired.”

“As you wish, Sir.  I’ll tender my resignation in the morning.  Perhaps SIRI is in need of a butler.”

But Tony didn’t have time to respond to his smartass, useless AI because Bruce’s hands were shaking as he buttoned his pants and gathered his clothes.

“Bruce?” Tony asked, raising his hand to rest on his shoulder.

Bruce startled enough that Tony dropped his hand as Bruce spun around.

“Sorry, Tony.  I’m sorry.”

“Bruce, Bruce, you have nothing to be sorry about.  Captain Conservative can take it.  Well, he probably can’t actually _take_ it, but he’ll accept the idea of it once you give him time to adjust.  He was friends with my _father_ , remember?  God, if he could handle Howard, he can handle you and me.”

“You’re right.  I’m just… we have to get going, ok?  Ten minutes, remember, and I’m sure you don’t want to go out on a mission in dress slacks and Italian loafers.”

“Depends on the mission,” Tony said.  “Works for James Bond, doesn’t it?”

But he followed Bruce into the bedroom and let him help as he changed into a sleek grey and black athletic shirt, black cargo pants, and boots.  Bruce double-checked the bandages on his shoulder, but Clint had been the one to wrap it for him, so it was as well-wrapped as it was going to get.

“I’ll see you on the roof with the others,” Bruce said as he headed towards the elevator.  “I’m going to get the armor.”

“Doctor Banner,” JARVIS’s voice followed him towards the elevator, “may I suggest reviewing the safety brief before wearing the armor into battle.”

Bruce looked tired and wan at those words, but he sighed and said, “Ok, go for it.”

And then the elevator closed.

Tony stared after him for a moment, then turned to go out to the helipad on the roof.  He passed by the couch where Bruce’s suit jacket had landed, and he took the time to shake it out and lay it properly over the arm of the couch before heading outside to meet the others.

The weather was still warm, but this high up, a cold breeze cut across the roof.  Clint and Steve were there already, both in their uniforms, watching the skies for their pickup.   Clint turned to look at him, but Steve stared resolutely into the darkness, silhouetted by the city lights.

“Where’s Banner?” Clint asked.

“Coming,” Tony said.

“Good,” Clint replied.  “Whatever we’re up against is throwing off Gamma like a sparkler on the Fourth of July.”

Tony groaned.  That was never a good sign.  Ever.

“Save it for the briefing,” Steve said without looking at them. 

But then there was a low whining roar and a quinjet, black and sleek and nearly invisible in the darkness, circled overhead.  They all shielded their eyes from the wind as it came in for a landing, but Tony saw a flash of red in the cockpit and knew that Natasha was at the controls.  Good.  Maybe Captain Antiquated would get some and lighten the fuck up.

The gangplank lowered and Steve and Clint—no, Cap and Hawkeye—walked into the jet.  Tony cast a glance behind him, but there was no sign of Bruce yet, so he followed them.  Cap slid into the copilot’s seat.  Widow smiled a greeting, and he nodded curtly in return.

Natasha turned around to see what they were waiting for.  “Where’s Bruce?” she asked.

“Coming—“ Tony started to say, but he was interrupted by heavy footsteps coming up the gangplank.

“Here,” Bruce said.

And yeah, purple was definitely Bruce’s color.  He had left his glasses behind, and the wash from the quinjet did marvelous things to his curls.  The armor molded to his skin like a second skin, though the oversized pauldrons and hand guards made him look like some paladin stepped off the pages of myth, and the twin gamma converters gleamed like dull emeralds.  They were on standby—they needed a charge of gamma before they could power the suit—but they still looked pretty damn sexy.

Natasha’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline.  “Dr. Banner, I see that Tony has another convert.”

Steve nearly choked.

At least he was saved by Rhodey’s voice over the comm.  “I’m in the air,” Rhodey said.  “Is everybody aboard.”

“That’s affirmative,” Steve answered.  “Director Fury, we’re ready to head out.”

Fury’s voice echoed over the quinjet’s speakers.  “We have a disturbance in rural Georgia.  There have been sightings of what I have no other way to describe than monsters running loose.  The National Guard has responded to the situation, but they feel unequipped to do anything other than secure a perimeter, and quite frankly, that perimeter is miles away from where they need to be.”

“Aww, GI Joe is scared, is he?” Tony mocked.

Steve glared at him.  “They have a right to be,” he said.  “They didn’t sign up to fight irradiated beasts.  We did.”

Steve, his back to the cockpit, didn’t see Bruce’s wince.

“Look here,”  Fury continued, and a map appeared on each of the quinjet’s screens.  “They are on the move, and headed towards populated areas.  You need to neutralize the threat before anyone gets hurt, do you hear me?”

“Roger that, Director,” Steve replied.

Bruce squinted at the screen.  “You said ‘irradiated.’  Was that a joke, or are they giving off radiation?”

“That’s no joke, Doc,” Natasha cut in.  “We’re picking up gamma signatures.”

“How strong?”

“Strong enough to track, but not strong enough for environmental impact,” Steve said.  “Still, to be safe, you, me, and War Machine will be in close combat.  Hawkeye, I want you to keep a distance of at least one hundred meters at all times.  Natasha will stay with the jet as a mobile command center and in case anyone needs a pickup.”

Tony looked around.  That left…him.

“And Iron Man will be…?”

“Team mascot?” Clint offered.  “PR rep?  Ball washer?  Oh, I know!  You can fetch my arrows!”

“You are so off my Christmas list,” Tony shot back.

“Tony, you need to stay in the jet and on the comms,” Steve said.  “We don’t know what we’re dealing with out there except for some initial readings and vague eye-witness reports.  I need you to tell us what we’re dealing with so we can find a weakness.  I would rather take these things alive than kill them, if it’s at all possible.”

“Ah, team _nerd_ ,” Clint said.

“I’ll take brains over brawn any day,” Bruce said as he watched the little cluster of green blips on the screen.

****

These weren’t monsters, Tony mused.  They were dogs.  Ok sure, dogs the size of small horses with teeth and claws that make Cujo look like a teacup poodle, but they were _dogs._

The quinjet had an impressive array of computer monitors next to the copilot’s seat, so Tony connected one to War Machine’s live feed.  Rhodey was flying overhead, tracking the pack as it raced through the forest.  He had it on infrared, since the dense tree cover and lack of light made a visual nearly impossible.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Rhodey asked.

Tony slipped on a headset.  “Yeah, Buddy.  Quite literally.  They’re big and they’re _fast.”_

“You’re telling me.  These guys are bigger than my first car.”

Hawkeye and Cap were already outside the jet, and Bruce stood on the gangplank, looking back at Tony.

“Time to go, Bruce,” Cap said.

Bruce looked like he was going to say something, but he just shrugged and gave Tony a lopsided smile.  But then he turned back at the last minute.

“Be there when I wake up?” he asked.

Tony nodded.  “There’s a tracker in the suit.  We’ll come get you, wherever you end up.”

Bruce grinned and followed Steve out the door.

“It’s just you and me, Babe,” Tony said to Natasha as the gangplank rose.

“And everyone else on the comm,” she said smoothly.  “Let’s get done playing dogcatcher so we can go home.”

“Agreed,” Tony said.

Steve called out the formation.  They were going to head away from the jet to form an ambush, and, hopefully, War Machine could drive the pack towards where the lay in wait.  All in all, it was pretty boring for Tony, since there was nothing he could actually do.  At all.  Except sit there.  And wait for data.

If he wanted to do that, he would’ve gotten his Ph.D.

But every time he shifted in his seat, Natasha glared at him enough to let him know that she wasn’t above using her Widow’s Bite to incapacitate him.  So he sat there.

A few minutes later, the comms lit up again.

“Ok, Cap I feel like the rabbit at the greyhound track, but we’re headed your way.”

“Remember, team, our goal is to incapacitate, not kill,” Cap said.

Tony followed the little blips on the screen and watched through Rhodey’s eyes.  Those dogs sure were ugly.  Radiation was apparently not good for a shiny coat because the dogs were mostly bald, with just a few patches of mangy fur.  They snarled and growled, and nearly broke into fights as they ran next to each other.  There were five little green hell dog blips, and four bigger blips: white for Rhodey, blue for Cap, red for Hawkeye, and purple for Bruce.  Hawkeye was probably up in a tree somewhere, but Cap and Bruce were standing a few meters apart.  Bruce hadn’t transformed yet because the suit’s tracker and scanners were still uncharged and offline.

“Here they come,” Hawkeye said.

And then there was chaos.

Two more groups of green blips—eight, no ten in each—appeared on the screen, flanking the Avengers. 

“You’ve got twenty more closing in,” Tony warned.  “Watch your flanks.”

“My broad heads aren’t penetrating!” Hawkeye said.  “Switching to explosives.”

Tony heard the unmistakable sound of repulsors charging, then Rhodey swearing.  “Damn it!  Two of them have EMP blasters mounted on collars.  They shut me down every time I try to get near.”

Then, suddenly, Tony heard an inhuman roar.  He heard it over the comm first, and had to hold the earpiece away from his ear.  Then, after a few moments, he heard its echo from outside.   Data started pouring in from the data scanners mounted in Bruce’s suits as it charged off the Hulk’s gamma signature. 

“These things are _tough_!” Rhodey said.  “Get them in the face; nothing else seems to slow them down!”

Tony’s eyes ran over the raw data feeds.  “They’re mutated,” he told the team.  “Their entire DNA sequences are fucked up.”

“Yeah, no shit, Tony,” Rhodey said.  “How about something we _don’t_ know?”

There was a high-pitched whine and the sickening crunch of bone over the comm.

“There are two with EMP cannons.  They’re headed towards Cap right now.”

Natasha shoved him over.  “I’ve got the radar; you take the data feed.  Find a weakness.”

The screen was nothing but raw numbers and equations, but Tony could process it almost as quickly as JARVIS could.

“Their bones are dense—almost diamond-dense.   You won’t cripple them.  Go for the vitals and anywhere with soft tissue.  Try to hit them from underneath.  Blinding doesn’t help, either, because they’re sniffing you out.  Go for the nose.”

“You have a group breaking off the main pack—six of them, heading south towards the National Guard perimeter.”

“Hulk!” Cap cried out.  “Keep them from getting too far south!”

“I got it!” Hawkeye shouted.  “Explosive arrow right to the eye!”

“Keep at it,” Tony said.

“Yeah I would—no more explosive arrows.”

“Hit it with a fucking _rock_ if you have to,” Tony said.  “You have one EMP cannon down.  Go in from the east side, War Machine.”

Tony watched Rhodey’s feed as he swooped down and repulsored one that was clawing and scrabbling over Cap, held back by his shield.  Rhodey swooped away before Tony could see Cap get back up.”

An explosion echoed from three of the four comms.

“Got the second EMP cannon,” Hawkeye announced.  “Shouldn’t be long now.”

Without any more interference with the electrical systems, Rhodey made quick work of the rest of the pack.

Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed as she studied the radar screen.  “Hulk has four dogs trailing him, and he’s about to make contact with the perimeter,” she said.

“Rhodey!” Tony cried.

“On it, Martini,” Rhodey said, already rocketing off.

Tony watched through Rhodey’s cameras as he sped away.  All he could hear through Bruce’s suit was howling, grunting, and growling, and it was pretty unclear which noises were coming from the dogs and which were the Hulk’s.  Then, suddenly, he heard something else.

“Fire at will!”

And then there was screaming, and more howling.  Rhodey crested a hill and blasted through the tree cover into a clearing.  Tony saw the Hulk, two dogs dead at his feet, and four soldiers’ bodies scattered on the ground.  He was cowering as the soldiers shot at him, but the armor was taking most of the damage.  But the third hell hound was tearing through a group of soldiers, mauling with teeth and claws as some ran and other stood slack-jawed, not knowing if they should shoot into the fray or not.  The dog looked up at Rhodey, and its eyes reflected back like twin discs of green fire as it stood over its prey.  Then, it abandoned the half-dead soldier it was chewing on, and took a great leap over a Hum-Vee before bounding off into the darkness.

“It’s getting away,” Rhodey muttered.  He cast one last look towards Hulk, curled up in a ball beneath the smoking armor.

“It’s headed towards the highway,” Natasha said.

“Shit!” Rhodey swore before hitting the repulsors hard and speeding off to intercept the dog.

“Get in the air now!” Tony said to Natasha.  “We’ve got to get Bruce!”  But Natasha was already firing up the engines and lifting into the air.

“Cap!” Tony called into the comm.  “Bruce is pinned down by the National Guard, about two miles south.  We’re going to get him.”

Tony didn’t even wait for Steve’s reply.  He threw off the headset and headed towards the back of the quinjet, holding onto the overhead cargo net for balance.  Before the jet had even landed, he was lowering the gangplank and running outside.

He ran right into a scene from a horror movie.  There was no more gun fire, but pained groans and shouts for help filled the air.  The carcasses of the dogs were scatter about—there were four, not just the two he saw from Rhodey’s cameras, and they looked like they had been torn limb from limb.  One had a broken jaw hanging loosely open.  There was blood everywhere, and Tony knew he should avoid it as much as possible, but he couldn’t seem to make himself care.   Soldiers were treating their wounded, winding makeshift tourniquets around shredded limbs, splinting broken bones, and loading the injured onto stretchers. 

“Bruce!” Tony called.  He ran from the glaring headlights of the Hum-Vees out into the darkness.  “Bruce!” he shouted.

“Fucking fuck!” he cursed as he pulled his phone out of his cargo pocket.  “JARVIS, track Bruce’s suit.”

A small purple blip appeared on his phone, and Tony kept one eye on the screen and one eye on the ground as he ran.  He tripped once on a root, tumbling onto his injured shoulder since he was unwilling to drop the phone, and he swore again, louder, as he heaved himself to his feet.   The signal said it was less than a hundred meters.

“Bruce!” Tony shouted.  “Brucie!”

There was more blood here, though it was hard to tell in the dark.  Then, Tony tripped again and fell to the ground, and he thought for one dreadful second that he had run Bruce right over. 

But there, among the leaf litter, was the central chest piece of Bruce’s armor where the tracking device was hidden.  And there was no sign of Bruce.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence and animal abuse. Kind of. The monsters are big, scary, dogs and they're going to get hurt.
> 
> Still reading? I hope so! :)


	47. Chapter 45: Caged Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce suffers in Ross's custody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the end notes for warnings. This is a bad chapter for our Brucie.

 

Bruce was cold.  JARVIS never let his bedroom get this cold, even in the winter, so he must have fallen asleep in the chilly lab.  He wanted a blanket, or maybe a stray lab coat to curl up under.  But, when he tried to sit up, nothing happened.

He opened his eyes and the light was so bright that he shut them again immediately. But, slowly, his other senses began to wake up.  There was a thick, cloying scent in the air, and he could hear the low whine of an animal.  Distantly, he wondered if the sound was coming from him.

Bruce knew where he was.  Well, he didn’t know _where_ he was, but he suspected he knew enough about the situation that he didn’t want to open his eyes and prove it.  He also knew that, if he was indeed captured, he wouldn’t be bothered nearly as much if they thought he was still unconscious.  So, he tried to get his bearings while keeping his breathing as close to the steady, deep rhythm of sleep as he could manage.

He was hooked up to a machine, he knew, because he could feel where the wires pierced his skin.  Possibly an IV, too, because he felt unnaturally calm and sedate.  In fact, he couldn’t feel the Other Guy at all, which meant they were either using some pretty powerful sedatives, or ones that he hadn’t been dosed with before, or a lot of them, or maybe all three. There were straps around his arms, wrists, thighs, ankles, and neck, leaving his torso free.  And that smell, so sweet he wanted to choke on it, was familiar.

Oh.  RG-27.  A gamma neutralizer.

And that whine…there was more than one now, coming from one side of the room, along with the scratch of…something…on a cement floor.  A sudden bark made him startle so badly that his eyes flew open.

Yup.  He was back in a lab, in a clear cage, from the looks of it.  It was narrow and long, and not nearly big enough for him to sit up in, even if he wasn’t strapped down.  The air inside the cage was a hazy green, which explained how they contained the RG-27 glass.  He couldn’t turn his head very far, but he managed to get a look at the IV running into his neck.  It was also green.  More RG-27.  They weren’t taking any chances this time.

There was another bark, and Bruce turned his head as far as he could the other way to see a line of other clear cages, each one housing a gamma-dog.  They were huge, with eyes like hard jade, and snouts twisted into a permanent snarl.  He shuddered violently, which just made him even more aware of his bonds and the pain of the IV shifting in his neck.

Bruce’s mouth went dry, and he feared for a second that he was going to throw up, but there was no way for him to turn his head very far, and he really didn’t feel like choking on vomit, so he pushed the nausea back down.

Tony would come get him.  There was a tracker in the suit.  In fact, Tony was probably on his way right now, with Steve and Clint and Natasha.  He just had to say alive and sane for a little while, and then he would be back home safe in the Tower.

The room had no windows, no clock, and there was no way for Bruce to tell how long he was awake before he heard an electronic lock click open.  Three people walked in—one with heavy boots that echoed on the floor, and two with shorter strides following.

General Ross’s face loomed over him, mustache twitching as he peered at Bruce through the glass cage.  He smiled—which was far more frightening than the gamma-dogs’ snarls—and rapped hard on the glass.

“Nice to see you again, Banner,” Ross said with mock cheerfulness. 

Bruce couldn’t find the voice to answer, but it was probably safer if he kept quiet anyway. Something Clint told him flashed through his mind: Don’t talk.  Bad guys are vain and they love to hear themselves talk.  You can find out useful secrets if you let them fill the silence.

“Enjoying the company of your new roommates?” Ross asked, indicating the rows of cages with a sweeping gesture.  “I figure I should keep you in the menagerie with the other monsters.  Maybe you’ll have something to talk about.”

Bruce was glad, in that moment, for the bonds because they help still his shaking limbs.  Ross, however, frowned at the lack of response.

“It’s thanks to you that we have them, you know.  Your little computer whiz took my raw data, but at least we still had a few of these mutts to help us rebuild.  It’s too bad he wouldn’t just hand over those files, but it was a blessing in disguise because it gave us a reason to come after you.  And we’ve run into a snag in our little project.”

Ross approached the nearest gamma-dog and opened a small hatch at the top of the cage.  He took out his sidearm and shot the dog through the eye.  It gave one whimpering scream and fell over dead.  Bruce’s entire body jumped at the sound, and his head snapped back to hit the floor of the cage hard. He squeezed his eyes closed to shut out the image of the dead dog, vibrant red blood pooling around the body.

“You see,” Ross said as he returned to Bruce’s side.  “They’re not like you.  More obedient, yes, but they can be killed.  But you’re going to help us fix it.”

Bruce, still not trusting his voice, shook his head from side to side.  Well, it was more like lolling his head because he felt too weak to move much more than that. 

“No, no, not willingly, of course.  God forbid you make anything _easier_ on yourself.  But we don’t need a willing participant.  It’s just a matter of…biology.”

With that, Ross signaled the other two men, and Bruce spiraled into the darkness once more.

****

When Bruce came around again, he was in a different, much smaller room.  His thoughts were even hazier than before, and it took him a few moments to realize that he wasn’t in the clear cage anymore.  But he was still strapped down, arms, wrists, neck, thighs and feet encased in metal restraints, but his legs were held up and away from his body. 

A man---or person, rather, because he really couldn’t tell—dressed in a hazmat suit came into the room, pulling a machine behind him.  The person rolled it in between Bruce’s spread legs, right up to the table, and secured it to the floor.  Then, without preamble, his dick was grasped by a gloved hand.  Bruce couldn’t see much from his position, but he felt it as a narrow tube was slid over his dick and then some sort of suction was activated because he was sucked inside.  The pulling sensation was strong and Bruce bit off his cry.

“Wha—What…?” he managed to force himself to say.

The blank white mask of the hazmat suit looked at him briefly but didn’t answer.  He---or she, or it—let go of the tube and weight of it pulling down made it even more uncomfortable.

But then the person moved to his head.  Pure instinct made Bruce recoil, but he had very little space to move and a rubber bit was forced between his teeth and secured behind his head.  He had no strength to fight it, but he still tried to shake his head and dislodge it.

“You’re going to want that,” a filtered, electronic voice said.  At least Bruce could tell that it was a man inside that suit.

Bruce was still trying to force it out with his tongue, but a cold, firm touch between his thighs distracted him.  He could tell from the alien sensation of rubber on smooth skin that his pubic hair had been shaved.  On then did he realize that the hair on his head had been shaved, too.

All the fight went out of him as electrodes were taped to his bare testicles and he started to shake.  The man felt it, too, because he paused. 

“Just relax,” the tinny voice said.  “It’s not going to be that bad.”

But that turned the tremors into full-on quakes.  The man didn’t stop again.  He moved to adjust the position of Bruce’s legs, bending the articulated table so that his ankles were as far apart as they would go, his knees bent.  Then he checked the position of the restraints, tightening them to the point of pain.

Tears were leaking out of Bruce’s eyes, but at least he could breathe past the gag and keep himself from outright sobbing.  Something thick and cold and metal pressed at his entrance, and he tried to will himself to relax as it was forced inside, but he was too scared, and it burned.  Then, all at once, it was shoved in and he bit down hard on the gag to keep from crying out.

But the man wasn’t finished. He left it still for a moment until Bruce got his breathing under control, then he slowly widened the device, stretching him open one agonizing fraction of an inch at a time.  At first, it was more humiliating than painful, but it eventually got to the point that Bruce thought he was going to scream if it stretched him any wider.  Then it stopped and was locked into position.

Bruce had never felt so vulnerable, so horribly used, in his life.

He shut his eyes, so he didn’t see the man step up to the machine.  But he felt something _else_ entering him, sliding into the hollow created by the speculum until it went past the edges and pushed even _deeper_.  He did scream then, a hoarse, low, choked sound that was promptly ignored.

And then the man left.

Bruce let the tears fall in earnest now.  He knew someone was watching—maybe through the wall, or CCTV--but he was beyond humiliated and crying wouldn’t make it any worse.

Then, he heard a long, low beep, and the probe inside him began to move.  Bruce screamed again at the rough invasion and tried to move away, but he was held tight as the metal pumped slowly in and out of him.  His muscles tried to contract, tried to shut out the invader, but they only clenched around the speculum.  He moaned, but the feeling was far more painful than pleasurable, and his dick remained resolutely limp. 

This went on for a few more seconds, but then his entire body convulsed as the probe sent an electric shock right into his prostate.  His teeth seized around the gag, and he _was_ grateful for it then because he would have probably bitten off his tongue without it.

It happened again, and then he was coming hard, and the machine sucked every drop out of his dick, continuing to suck in hard pulses even when he had nothing left to give. 

But the machine didn’t stop.  Bruce sobbed, great hitching cries ripped from his throat as it shocked him _again_ , and he was sure that it was too soon after the first time, that he couldn’t possible come again, but his body betrayed him and ejaculated weakly.

And the machine kept going.

****

When Bruce was finally released from the machine, he was crying uncontrollably, harder than he ever had in his life.  His voice was hoarse and his throat was raw, and he was sure he was going to die from a stroke or a heart attack or just from plain old shock.

 But when the guy in the hazmat suit returned to take the spit-soaked gag out of his mouth, Bruce _bit_ as hard as he could, though he barely had enough strength to cut through the thick rubber.  The man swore and stepped back, and Bruce snarled at him like a feral animal. 

The next time the man returned, it was with a syringe.  He jammed it into Bruce’s hip and Bruce was once again consumed by the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING": Non-Con. Definite non-con and forced orgasm. 
> 
> I'm sorry, Bruce. I'm a horrible, horrible person.
> 
> If you don't like that sort of stuff, just skip this chapter and come back for the next one.


	48. Chapter 46: Picking up the Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's left behind to pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter. Enjoy!

Tony was missing a piece of the left vambrace.  He had found the rest of the pieces of Bruce’s armor, scattered and strewn about the blood-soaked ground, but the underside of the left vambrace still eluded him.  He held up his phone and scanned the area with JARVIS’s camera.  He couldn’t see into a thicket of bushes, so he lowered himself to his knees and stuck his phone into the branches.  It vibrated in his hand, so he crawled further into the brambles.

“Tony?  Tony!”

And then there was a thick hand around his calf, pulling him back, but he managed to reach out and snag the piece of metal hidden in the bushes before he was hauled out.

It was Steve.

“They took him, Cap,” Tony said before Steve could open his mouth again.  “The armor…it was torn to pieces.  Maybe the dogs did it, or maybe _they_ did it.  Did they know about the tracker?  How did they know?”

Steve had him by the shoulders and he shook him a bit, sending a shockwave of pain up and down his right side that was strong enough to make him gasp for breath.

“Slow down, Tony,” Steve said, taking advantage of the short silence.  “You have to calm down.  Is all that blood yours?”

Tony looked down, and there was blood covering the front of his shirt. He touched his face and was surprised to find that his lip was split—it must have happened when he fell.  His shoulder hurt, too, and he could tell that he was going to need new stitches. 

“Uh..yeah…I think so,” Tony said.  “But, Cap, Bruce is gone!  We have to go after him, right now.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, and something deep inside Tony rose to the surface.

“Look, you self-righteous _asshole_ , Bruce is part of your _team_ whether you like it or not, and whatever happened to ‘leave no man behind’ and—“

Steve shook him again.  “Stop it!  Listen, Tony!  They _arrested_ him.  The military said that he led the dogs to them and initiated the attack.”

That shut Tony up.  For about two seconds.

“That’s the craziest bullshit I’ve ever heard.  They called for our help.  Call Fury.  Make him come down here and sort his mess out!  And where did they take Bruce?”

And Tony threw Steve’s hands off him.  He stalked away, shouting into his phone.

“Rhodey?  Rhodey!  Find their CO.  Get me to this guy right now!”

Steve followed him calling, “Tony!  Just wait a second!”  But Tony waved him off.

“He’s dead, Tony,” Rhodey said through the phone’s speakers. “Five soldiers are killed.  Dozens are wounded, but all the gamma dogs are dead, so we need to get out of here because that blood is radioactive. Evacuate.  Hazmat is coming to clean up.”

Tony looked down at the pieces of blood-caked armor he had gathered.

“Get back to the plane,” Steve said.  “There are radiation meds there.  We’ll use the comm and call Fury.”

Tony felt helpless.  Utterly useless.  He couldn’t even take Bruce’s armor with him.

He headed back to the plane, Steve trailing him, probably to keep him from running back.

****

Before he boarded the plane, Tony threw his shoes and socks out into the forest.  Most of the radioactive particles would have been in the ground he walked on, so that would help keep it out of the plane.  He would let the SHIELD team figure out what do with them.

But, once Steve sat him down and ran the Geiger counter over him, it was apparent that the blood really was just his because the counter barely clicked.  Tony was still glaring daggers at him, so he turned him over to Natasha and went outside to wait for Clint and Rhodey.

Natasha tried to clean the blood off his face, but he shoved her away, too. 

“Get Fury on the phone, right now!”

“I talked to him already, as soon as I saw what was happening to Bruce,” she said, calmly yet with a steel edge in her voice that told Tony that she was taking the matter seriously.  “He’s looking into it and he’ll call when he knows what’s going on.  They used a shielded vehicle to take him away, so I couldn’t track them without taking off and getting a visual.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you?” Tony said, his voice close to a hysterical scream.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, and Tony repeated the question, calmer. “Why the fuck didn’t you?”

She resumed cleaning his lip, and then moved on to his shoulder, cutting the material away with the scissors from the medical kit.  “Because I didn’t know what was happening.  I was watching the radar, and it was tracking the suit.  As far as I could tell, the Hulk stepped off into the forest to turn back into Bruce.  And I couldn’t take off and leave you in the middle of an irradiated battle ground.”

Tony thought of his mad dash through the forest, tracking the empty suit.  They had all been fooled.

“Fuck.  Ross wanted this to happen.”

“Yes, he did.”

“Those dogs _herded_ Bruce into the crowd.”

“Probably.”

“We’ve got to find him and get him back!”

“As fast as superhumanly possible,” Steve’s voice rang out from the edge of the gangplank.

Tony looked up to see him flanked by War Machine and Hawkeye.

“And,” Steve continued, “we’re going to make sure, once and for all, that Ross has no way to ever do this to Bruce again,”

****

“It doesn’t look good,” Fury said. 

The team was assembled in common room of the Tower, staring at Fury’s image on the video screen.  Tony, hair still wet from the decontamination shower, glowered right back.  Steve put a restraining hand on his good shoulder, but he shrugged it off.

“There are multiple casualties, and the reports say that the Hulk attacked the National Guardsmen.  Some dumbass saw him burst through the tree line with giant radiation dog monsters on his tail, wet his pants, and opened fire.  Then Big Green decided to take it the wrong way.”

“Did he kill anyone?” Tony demanded. “Did _he_ actually kill anyone?”

“That’s why it doesn’t look good, Tony,” Fury said.  “No one’s saying either way.  There was too much confusion, and they’re still gathering statements.  But, they’re keeping him in custody until it’s all sorted out or they find out where these dogs came from, or, most likely, both.”

“That’s bullshit!” Clint said, beating Tony to the punch.  “We were called out there to _help_ those fools, and then Bruce gets thrown under the bus?”

Fury sighed.  “As of right now, SHIELD is not prepared to intervene, though they will consider defending him in trial, depending on what kind of evidence comes to light.  But, the truth is that the Hulk was never considered for the Avengers; Bruce Banner was recruited merely for his scientific expertise in the field of nuclear physics.  Then, he just…showed up…at the Battle of Manhattan.”

Then, everyone started yelling. 

“What do you mean, he’s not on the team!”

“Bruce is a fucking _Avenger_!”

“He helped save the city!”

“But you had him on file!”

Everyone but Tony, who knew where the rest of this conversation going.  Straight into a brick wall of red tape and don’t-give-a-fucks.

So he dragged himself to the elevator and jammed the button with his thumb so hard that he probably sprained it.

JARVIS didn’t speak to him.  He just took the elevator to the penthouse when Tony didn’t say a word otherwise.

The apartment was empty and quiet, which suited his mood just fine.  He felt like his brain was numb, short-circuited by being surrounded by so much _stupid_ —including himself.

The discarded blanket and dinner dishes were still on the floor.  He would pick those up later.  But then he saw Bruce’s jacket, folded and hanging over the edge of the couch.  Only a few hours ago, Bruce was here with him.   That thought felt hollow.  Dull.  Dead.

Tony didn’t touch the jacket.  He walked over to the bar, took a glass off the shelf, and poured a neat double Scotch from the first bottle he could find.  The comforting aroma of strong liquor wafted over him as he swirled the glass.

The room suddenly felt too haunted, and his throat tightened as he struggled to breath.  He walked out onto the balcony to get some air.  Far below, the street was full of cars racing though the dark, burning light trails into his retinas that stayed with him as he blinked.  He walked to the edge and leaned over, holding the glass loosely in his hand.

Tony slammed back the scotch in one go, and it was better because he could pretend that the burning in his throat was from the alcohol.  He dangled the empty glass over the edge of the balcony and let go.

And a large hand, moving faster than a human hand any right to go, snatched the glass out of the air.

Tony turned to see Steve standing next to him, his face set in a scowl.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked.

Tony shoved past him.  “Just back the fuck off!”

But Steve, followed him, setting the glass down on a table on the way in.

“Just get the hell away!” Tony yelled.  “What do you want, anyway?”

“I want Bruce back,” Steve said softly.  “SHIELD isn’t going to help.  That leaves us.”

“You know what didn’t _help_?  You walking in all Captain Judgmental while Bruce and I were having a moment!”

Steve stopped in his tracks, and his eyebrows quirked up a bit.  “It looked like you two were having sex on the couch.  Slightly…weird…sex, but that’s what it looked like.”

“So what do you have to say about that!”

“Uh, sorry? Congratulations?  Uh…put a sock on the door next time?”

“What?! …what?”

“Look, Tony, I’ve been doing some reading.  And there was a gay pride parade down the street last year.  I could see it from my window.  And on the news.  Just because society now is more accepting to being gay, it doesn’t mean that you _invented_ it.  We just didn’t talk about, and we certainly didn’t talk about in the Army.  But, as far as I know, it’s pretty darn rude to walk in on two people having sex, no matter _who_ they’re having sex with.”

Tony’s hand was shaking.  All the adrenaline was fleeing his body, and it left a cold wake of exhaustion. 

“But that’s not the point of why I came up here,” Steve said when Tony couldn’t form his thoughts into words.  “The point is that Bruce needs help, and we’re the only ones who care.”

“Fury?”

“Is washing his hands of the matter for now.  So that leaves us, and we need _you_.  Bruce needs you, and he needs you to stay strong for him right now.  Fury said they’ll put him on trial.  I don’t want it to get to that point.  I don’t want them to give anyone the chance to lock him away forever.  So we’re going to find him, we’re going to get him out, and then we’re going to hide him somewhere that Ross or SHIELD or the government will never be able to find him again because he’s part of our team.”

That did it.  Tony bit his lip hard to keep himself from crying in front of Captain America, but Steve saw it anyway, and pulled him so hard against his chest that the pain alone forced the tears from his eyes.  And then he was sobbing into Steve’s shoulder, and Steve wrapped his arms around him so tightly that he could hardly breathe. 

“You have five minutes,” Steve said.  “Five minutes to fall apart, and then we need to get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading and commenting!


	49. chapter 47:: What Nightmares May Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has lost control of his body; he tries to keep control over his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't as heavy, but look at the end notes for warnings nonetheless.

Bruce didn’t know how long it had been since he was captured.  There were no windows, no natural light, and the fluorescent lighting above his clear cage was never turned off.  They didn’t feed him, either, so he assumed that he was getting nutrients from the IV.  But, that didn’t stop the hunger pains.  That didn’t bother him so much because he knew that those, too, would fade in time.  Mostly, he was disappointed because counting meals was one way to track the time.

He did know that he was there for at least 36 hours because that’s how long it took for the RG-27 hallucinations to take hold.  After that, time didn’t matter much anyway.

They didn’t take him to the…smaller room…in regular intervals, either. Well, maybe they did, but his sense of time was too messed up to realize it. 

He really missed his watch.  And his glasses.  Now he understood why Tony created JARVIS: so he would have someone to talk to when he was alone.

No, don’t think about Tony.  He forced his thoughts in another direction.  He wasn’t sure if he was talking out loud at times, and while he didn’t really know any true secrets about the team, he’d rather not risk it.  He only knew things like Clint liked to drink straight from the coffee pot when he thought no one was looking, and that Natasha still does ballet early in the mornings before anyone else gets to the gym.  He knew that Steve would always miss Bucky.  And that Tony really liked to see him in a bowtie.  Still, better not to think about them at all.

There wasn’t much else in the room to look at except for the dogs, whining softly in their cages.  They weren’t so bad, really.  He watched them sleep, watched them scratch themselves under the ears, watched them wag their tails for attention whenever someone came to take him to the smaller room.  And they weren’t really different dogs, either.  It was five of the same dog.  He thought he was hallucinating at first, and the dogs were just multiplying in his mind, but no, there were always five of them, so he counted that as true.

There wasn’t much else he could count as true.  He thought that Ross came to see him several times, to laugh and rap on the glass with heavy knuckles as if he was some kid’s science project in a terrarium—which, he guessed, he was.  Though he would like a plant.  A plant would be nice.  Don’t lizards get a plant?  And a warm rock to curl up on?  The rock would be better.

But, then again, he also thought his father came to visit him sometimes, too, which was absolutely _not_ true.  He was dead, for one.  And he’d never come visit Bruce, for another.  It still bothered him, though, because he called him _Robert_ when he spoke to him.

_Robert_ was not true.  _Bruce_ was true.

Tony hadn’t come to visit him, yet, and Bruce was thankful for that.  If Tony came, he’d want to believe that it was Tony, and he might not survive it if it wasn’t.

No, he’d survive it.  He’d have to.

But don’t think about Tony.

Watch the dogs.

They weren’t so bad, really.  And there were five of them, but just one in reality.  Five copies of the same dog.

That’s why Ross wanted him.  He wanted to make copies.  Little Hulks.  They made the dogs, and now they wanted to make more of him.

Which is strange.  Why would anyone want _more_ of him?  His father asked him that—asked _Robert_ that.  Why make more _Roberts_?

But Bruce knew.  He wanted to grow bits and pieces and put them together the right way.  He heard that from the men who took him to the little room.  If Hulk could grow pieces of Bruce when they were taken out, could they grow a Hulk from a piece of Bruce?  They didn’t know he was listening; they thought he was unconscious.

He learned that from Clint.  Well, he learned that before Clint, but Clint made sure he knew it again. 

Don’t think about Clint.  Watch the dogs.

One was yawning, showing the yellow teeth in his cavernous mouth.  But he looked at Bruce and he wagged his tail.

Bruce wished he was fed.  Then, he could share it with the dogs.  Like Dog.  He cooked for Dog, and for himself, and Dog licked his hands when his experiments failed.  Dog kept the cockroaches out of the house and warned him when the agents came to shoot him.

Maybe Tony would make him a dog.  A DUM-E dog.

Don’t think of Tony.  Or DUM-E. 

Steve came to visit him once, but all he did was sit in the corner and stare at him for a while.  That was ok.  He was pretty sure that it was not the true Steve anyway.

He hoped Steve didn’t hate him.

The dogs started barking.  Someone was entering the room.  He couldn’t see them because he kept his head turned away, towards the dogs.  One of them looked at him.  He stopped barking and laid down with his head on his paws, whimpering quietly.

A chill traveled up his arm from the IV.  It was time for the smaller room.

“What? Not even going to buy me dinner first?” he slurred before his world went dark again.

****

Bruce hurt.  That time was _bad._   They wanted to know how many times he would ejaculate before his body just couldn’t do it anymore.  They were measuring, counting.  Bruce knew because he counted with them.

He felt stretched and burned inside, and his muscles were sore and cramping up from the amount of electricity they had shot through him.  The back of his head hurt, too.  He had tried to bang it against the table and knock himself out, but they just paused their experiment to strap his head down.

His teeth were chattering because it was cold, and because he hurt, and because he was so scared, and he couldn’t even _feel_ the Other Guy in the back of his mind anymore.  Maybe that was the secret; he wasn’t angry, he was just extremely sexually frustrated.  Maybe they had fucked the beast right out of him.

He wanted to curl up, but he couldn’t because they still strapped him down.  Ross wasn’t taking chances because he didn’t know how he escaped the last two times.  Bruce could tell because he made the same stupid mistakes in the desert when he kidnapped him and Tony.

Don’t think about Tony.

Compartmentalization was the key.  Make a room for these thoughts, shove them in, and lock the door.  He knew how to do that.  If he built the door strong enough, they might _never_ get through.  Unless they were the Hulk.  No door could keep him inside.

He tried to think of new jokes for when they came to take him into the smaller room.  He had used that dinner line twice already.  He was a genius; he could do better than that.

“What’s wrong?  Your mom’s not available?”

The dogs didn’t even look up.  They were right: classic, but boring.

“Your face reminds me of a wrench: every time I see it, my nuts tighten up.”

That one got a tail wag.  It should.  He heard Tony say it once.  Don’t think of Tony.

“Do you come here often, or do you wait until you get home?”

One of the dogs rolled his eyes.  Yeah, of course they didn’t wait to get home.  Too obvious.

But then he was distracted when the dog on the far left started morphing into a gargoyle.  Actually, that was kind of cool.  It looked like a badass gargoyle.  It didn’t have any wings, though, so it would probably be fucking useless trying to ride it.  It was just one of those rain-gutter gargoyles from the top of churches.  And then the gargoyle stretched and the illusion was lost as the image was broken and it was just a dog again.

“Hold on, Brucie,” Tony’s voice whispered in his ear.  “No matter what, I’m coming to get you.”

Don’t think of Tony.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS off-screen non-con and forced orgasm. Non-consensual drug use. Hallucinations. Torture.
> 
> Hurry, Tony, hurry!


	50. Chapter 48:  We Have a Plan: Attack!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team looks for Bruce and formulates a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter!

A chill breeze blew across the balcony, cutting through layers of cloth to make Tony shiver.  He didn’t turn in quite yet, though.  Storm clouds gathered on the horizon and he would have to go inside soon enough.  For now, he ignored the cold and gazed out across the city scape below.

It had been two and a half weeks since he lost Bruce.  The weather was turning.  Autumn would come soon, then winter right on its heels.  Hell, he was sure that the stores were already setting out Christmas displays.

He wondered if Bruce was cold.  Tony had already ordered him an entire new wardrobe—last winter, he didn’t even have a decent jacket before Tony forced him to choose one from his closet.  And now…now who knew what he had.

So Tony stood outside and shivered until Steve came out to fetch him.

“Tony, it’s too cold out here,” Steve admonished gently.  “Let’s go inside and warm up with some coffee, ok?”

He let himself be led inside.  He owed Steve that much.  In the past weeks, Cap had been working diligently to uncover any clues as to Bruce’s whereabouts.  Unfortunately, they were out of SHIELD’s good graces, and most of the world organizations were aware of that fact, so not many were talking—even to Captain America. 

But they had narrowed it down to two facts: one, Bruce was being held overseas, out of reach of US military tribunals and any American laws about the fair treatment of prisoners; two, the last research that Ross had been directly linked to involved the effects of gamma radiation on stem cells. 

JARVIS had sent emails to every top stem cell research facility in the world, using false names to try to dig up any kind of information of who would be involved, or—most importantly—where they would be able to do that kind of research.

Natasha said Russia.  Clint disagreed; he thought Natasha was being biased, but whenever he said that, Natasha just gave him a look to shut up.

Tony was woken from his reverie by the sensation of a hot mug being pressed into his hand.  He looked down and was surprised to see coffee—black, with sugar.

 _Tony, it’s not black if you drink it with sugar_ , Bruce used to tell him—no, scratch that.  Tells him _._

“When’s the last time you slept,” Steve asked.

Tony swirled the mug in his hand, watching the steam spiral away in little wisps.

“Last night.”

“No, you were in the shop.  And then you were in the gym for an hour this morning before your teleconference with Rhodes, and you went to the balcony after that.”

Tony blinked.  “What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

Bruce had been gone for three weeks.  How had he lost count?  It felt like a betrayal.

“I slept in the shop.”

“You’re a lousy liar, Tony.  At least when you’re tired and your blood-shot eyes give you away.”

“Did Fury say anything about a trial date when you talked to him this morning?”

Steve sighed and shook his head.  “Drink your coffee.  Then, we’ll go down to the shop and do some more research.”

 Tony was sick of research.  He needed to _do_ something, _build_ something that would find Bruce right now. 

But he followed Steve down to the shop nonetheless.

Clint was down there already.  The shop, once Tony and Bruce’s private refuge in the world, had turned into a veritable war room.   The holographic displays were lit up with maps and intercepted documents instead of blue prints and three-dimensional models.  Clint was sitting at one of the workstations, typing into the computer as DUM-E watched warily from the corner.

The bots didn’t take to Clint and Steve like they did to Bruce.  Tony always did think they were excellent judges of character.

“Any news?” Tony asked, even though JARVIS would have told him the second there was any new development.

“Nah,” Clint replied without taking his eyes off the screen.  “I’ve gone through every email between that creepy doctor and the Russian government, and there’s just…nothing.  Well, there’s plenty of shady shit about cloning a wooly mammoth in Siberia, but nothing about Bruce.”

Clint pushed himself away from the desk and rubbed his eyes.  “Look, I know I’ve said it before, but I really don’t think he’s being held in Russia.  I’ve known the guy for what, a year?  And there is no way I would keep Bruce anywhere he could possibly slip into a populated area and disappear.  Hell, he could disappear into the wilderness, too.  He’s a survival expert, and he knows how to blend in.”

“So…what are you thinking,” Steve prompted.

Clint sighed.  “I don’t know.  Somewhere isolated.  Not like Siberia isolated.  Like, an island.  Or the fucking moon.”

“Ok, sure,” Tony said.  “There are only a few hundred thousand islands in the world.  That narrows it down.”

Clint leaned back in the chair and kicked his boots up onto the desk.  “Well,” he said, “we already figured that they would need a pretty big facility to house any project involving the Hulk. But whatever they’re doing, it’s not giving off enough gamma radiation to trace.”

Tony shook his head.  They had been through this so many times before.  “No, at least not enough to differentiate it from normal levels of atmospheric radiation.  Whatever they’re using, it’s enough to suck up the radiation around Bruce—“

Tony nearly dropped his coffee cup.  Of course.  He was so fucking stupid.

“—and everything else in the atmosphere around him!”

Steve looked at Clint.  Yeah, they knew that.  They were probably thinking that Tony had finally lost it.

“No!  You see!  It’s going to create a _negative_ gamma level, like a black hole!” Tony shoved Clint away from the monitor, almost sending him sprawling, and typed furiously into the keyboard.  “We’ve been looking for an increase in gamma levels, but if we just reverse the search parameters…”

Tony flung his arm wide, and a map lit up the room.  The map glowed green, brighter in the areas of higher gamma concentration.  But there were several spots that were so dark they were nearly black.  One was in New Mexico, and Tony dismissed it immediately—they had already ruled out Gamma Base, Ross’s old haunt.  But there was one, in the Pacific Ocean, off the coast of Russia.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Clint said.  “I was right.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, and he had that look on his face that meant he was already formulating a plan.

“We’re going to need a plane,” he said.

****

Tony had a plane.  SHIELD may have their quinjets, but Tony had _designed_ the quinjets.  So, of course, he had one tucked neatly away in his hanger.  And, of course, it was not any ordinary quinjet.  It was bigger, more comfortable (because that’s how Tony rolled) and he had used it to test the prototype for the helicarrier’s retroreflective panels.

This wasn’t a plane.  It was a ninja with a jet engine.

Rhodey was in California, but a quick phone call and he was on his way to Iron Works to get the quinjet.  He would pick them up in New York, and then they would be on their way to the Island of Dr. Fucking Moreau. 

The island, it turned out, was an old experimental nuclear plant, abandoned long ago as poorly-designed and inoperable.  But, the concrete ghost town had been requisitioned as a training facility for nuclear spills, then forgotten sometime in the last decade before Ross turned it into his private horror house of gamma experiments.

There was very little information beyond that.  They had no real way of telling who or what Ross was using to guard the place, or how heavily fortified it would be when they arrived. The only fact they could really count on was that Ross knew they were coming.

Steve didn’t seem to be phased.  He had, he reminded Tony, done this before.  The plan was to go in, get Bruce, get out, and take him to Tony’s house in Hong Kong until they could figure out where to go from there.  It seemed like a viable enough plan, as far as plans went.  A little vague, but hey, that left room for improvisation.

In the meantime, the team split in different directions to complete their pre-mission rituals.  Tony headed down to the armory—his shoulder was still painful and healing, but there was no way he was going to stay out of this fight.  He also needed to get Clint’s arrows.  After the last battle, it was obvious that Clint needed a lot more firepower than he usually carried.  Fuck broad heads.  These new arrows would make his old arsenal weep in shame.

DUM-E clicked his claw when he saw Tony enter the workshop.  The poor bot had been positively distraught lately; Tony attributed his attitude to the tense atmosphere.  But, still, he went over to the bot and patted it on the strut.

“Hey, DUM-E, you gotta hold down the fort while we’re gone.  Keep this place cleaned up so Bruce doesn’t know how we’ve gone to hell while he’s been gone, ok?  Don’t give him any more ammunition against me than he already has.”

DUM-E reached down to squeeze his shoulder, and Tony had to pry his claw off before he did any real damage. 

One last check to Clint’s new quiver before sending it upstairs, then Tony went over to line of suits in their individual pods.  He paused before the Snowflake armor, waiting in the dark for its owner to return.  After it had been decontaminated, Tony had reassembled it himself, piece by piece, and reinforced the bindings and the joints until he was certain that no one would be able to get Bruce out of it unless he wanted out.  He also made sure to install tracking devices on every damn piece of it.  Hell, if Bruce managed to pocket a single rivet next time, Tony was pretty sure he could track it.

He thought briefly about bringing the armor with them, but dismissed the idea.  Though his quinjet was roomier than SHIELD’s standard, it was still a tight squeeze with six people and the Iron Man and War Machine suits, on top of the medical equipment they were bringing just in case of—well, just in case.  And, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, Bruce probably wasn’t going to be in much of a position to use the suit anyway.

They just had to get him out of there.  He could have the suit brought to Bruce in Hong Kong or Iceland or Brazil or wherever he decided to go after they broke him out.

Tony moved down the line to Heartbreaker.

“Ok, JARVIS, let’s do some pre-flight checks since you’re always bugging me about safety measures.”

“As much as I appreciate your sudden interest in my suggestions, I have one alteration to the suit I would like to bring to your attention first.”

Tony groaned.  Really?  Right before a battle.

“Show it to me, J.”

A sleek side compartment had been added to the left thigh, right about where a pocket on a pair of pants would be.  It slid open to reveal a pair of glasses nestled into the casing.

Bruce’s glasses.

Tony pulled them out and unfolded them before putting them on.  It was a new pair of Stark Glasses, lighter, stronger, and capable of folding flatter than the last model.  He folded them back up and placed them back into the compartment.

“Doctor Banner will need his glasses when you find him,” JARVIS said.

“Thanks, J,” Tony whispered into the air.

“You’re quite welcome, Sir.  Now, about that pre-flight check…”

****

The island, far off the coast and inaccessible by anything other than plane, was a strategic nightmare to attack.  Really, there was no other way than to go balls to the wall and storm the bitch.

So, that’s exactly what they planned to do.

“Tony, you’re with me,” Cap said.

They had been over the battle plan so many times that Tony could recite it in his sleep.  Of course, that could also be because they didn’t have much of a plan to go on, so there wasn’t much to memorize.

“We’re going in deep and fast to extract Bruce since we can take the most damage. Clint, Natasha, you’re going to stay back to cover our escape.  Rhodes, you’re flying the plane.  We’ll call you in if we need backup, but I want to keep you involvement here as quiet as possible.  The last thing we want is for you to take the heat for something stupid.”

Rhodey looked like he wanted to say something, but he thought better of it after trading a glance with Tony.  He knew that Tony wouldn’t hesitate to call him in if there was trouble.  Hell, Tony had expected him to bail him out of plenty of sticky situations in the past, so why would this time be any different?

The jet approached the huge, ugly structure that dominated the small island.  It was as grey and plain as the solid grey sky above them, two matching cylinders rising against the horizon surrounded by a fleet of small, square buildings and miles of barbed-wire fencing.  They had already deduced that they would be doing their most dangerous experiments in the old reactors.   Somewhere, hidden behind the concrete and metal, was Bruce.

“There,” Cap pointed to a flat space high up on the perimeter of one of the biggest buildings, “put us up there.”

Tony swallowed hard and took one last look at his teammates with his own eyes before he snapped his visor into place. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and happy Halloween!


	51. Chapter 49: Breaking Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Steve find Bruce, but they still have to get him out alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some warnings for this chapter, but it's not too bad. Still, they're at the end.

The dogs were acting strangely.  They whined incessantly and turned in anxious circles before lying down and standing up again.  And, every now and again, one of them would growl a low, gravely sound that he felt more than heard.

Bruce gathered his strength and turned his head towards the door. He expected someone to enter, but the door remained resolutely shut.  Maybe it was the hallucinations, but the visions had fled as his strength ebbed, leaving nothing but a cold void in their wake.  Bruce was, in part, thankful for that, but at least the hallucinations had distracted him from the utter boredom of being locked up alone for so long.

His father didn’t visit him anymore.  Then again, neither did Steve.  But the longer he was here, the less that seemed to matter.  In fact, he was happy that Steve and Tony and the rest of the team weren’t there to see him.  He must look pathetic, with hardly enough strength to turn his head, naked, skin rubbed raw where the restraints chafed, so sore that he wouldn’t be able to move anyway.  Eventually, this would have to end.  Either he would waste away and die, or his body would be so close to shutting down that the Other Guy would have to come out.  Ross and his scientists couldn’t keep him here forever.  Maybe.

One of the dogs whined, high and uneasy.  Turning his head to see what it was doing was too much work, so he listened as the dog’s claws clicked on the floor in a nervous pattern.  The others joined in one by one until they were all howling, snarling and snapping at each other in fear.  Bruce kept his eyes on the door.  Whatever was on the other side, he wanted to face it with whatever he had left.

A dull, metallic thud echoed from the door, once, twice, before the door and a good part of the wall blew in with a booming explosion.  Grey smoke billowed into the room, though the air remained a murky green in his little glass cage.  At first, nothing else happened, and Bruce dismissed it as another hallucination, but then the smoke dissolved into a blur of red, white, and blue.

“Bruce! Tony, I’ve got him!” Steve cried from across the room.  Though the sound was muted inside the cage, it was so clearly Steve’s voice that Bruce’s heart leaped into his throat.  He looked harder, and yes, he _did_ believe it was Steve because he was wearing his brown leather jacket over his uniform, and Hallucination Steve had never done that before.

“S—s—st….” Bruce tried to answer, but his voice wasn’t obeying him.

“It’s ok,” Steve said as he crossed the room.  “Just…just…it’s ok.”

Steve’s face said that he looked even worse than he felt, which Bruce wasn’t very sure was possible.  But the look of dismay turned into concentration as he tried to force the cage open.  Steve ran his hands over the cage from top to bottom, looking for a latch where there was none.  Bruce wasn’t any help—every time he was moved he had been unconscious, so he had no idea how the clear container opened. 

Steve followed the gas line down the side and out of Bruce’s line of sight, and the squeak of a valve was followed by a rush of cold oxygen into the cage as the green RG-27 gas dissipated.  Bruce shivered in the cold, dry draft, but the fresh air was such a relief that Bruce had to choke back his tears.

A large hand splayed on the glass in front of his face, and Steve’s face came into view above him.  “I’m going to try to break the glass, Bruce.  I know you can’t move but shut your eyes for a second, ok?”

Bruce did as he was told, and the fresh air gave him enough energy to turn his head away as much as the restraints allowed.  The impact of Steve’s shield on the glass reverberated through Bruce’s body, but it didn’t break.  Steve tried twice more, but the clear cage held.

“Bruce,” Steve’s voice made his name sound like an apology, “Tony’s coming.  He’s going to be able to get you out.”

Steve’s hand pressed hard against the glass as if he could reach right through the wall and touch him.  He wished that he could reach up and press his hand back, but Steve’s eyes were on the door anyway.

“He’s coming, Bruce,” Steve reassured.

And then there was a distant roar and, sure enough, Tony stepped through the ruined doorway in the Heartbreaker armor.

It wasn’t real.  It couldn’t be real.  Steve and Tony were there to rescue him, and they were going to go far away from this nightmare and it just couldn’t be true.

But Tony flipped up the faceplate and there was _Tony_ right there, looking into the cage, seeing the ruin that Bruce had become, and there was fire in his eyes.

“I can’t get the cage open,” Steve said as he stepped back.

Tony pushed Steve further behind him, and put his hand flat against the glass right where Steve’s had been.  But Bruce saw the repulsor glow before a beam of white-hot energy cut through the top of the cage and Tony flipped it open.  The laser left a wash of warm air in its wake, and it felt so very good on Bruce’s chilled skin.

The restraints crumbled in Iron Man’s grasp, but Steve was gentle as he removed the IV from Bruce’s neck.  The cold metal fingers folded and disappeared as the gauntlet retracted, and then Tony’s warm hand was against his face and holding his head.

“Bruce!  Bruce?” Tony said.  “We’re going to get you out of here.”

But Bruce’s small reserves were fading fast, and he tried to push back the darkness that crowded into the edge of his vision.  They didn’t seem to need him to answer, though.  Steve shrugged off his big leather jacket and wrapped it around Bruce’s body as well as he could before he was lifted into steady arms.  Steve still had his shield strapped onto his right forearm, and he shifted Bruce so that he lay behind the shield as much as possible.

“We’ll get him back to the jet, then we’ll blow this place to pieces,” Steve said.

Tony flipped his faceplate down again.  “I’ll cover you,” he said.

They started to move, but a low whine behind him made Bruce shift in Steve’s arms.

“Hey, it’s ok,” Steve said, though he paused to readjust his grip.

“The—the—d---“ Bruce couldn’t get the words out, so he pointed a shaky hand at the cages along the wall.

He could feel Steve’s shoulder slump in dismay, and Tony flipped his faceplate back up and stepped right up against Steve.

“What do you want, Bruce?  Just tell me, and I’ll make it happen.”

Bruce swallowed, but his mouth was too dry for it to do much good.  “They…they’re not…”

Tony’s eyes followed his pointing finger, and Tony’s eyes softened as he saw what Bruce was pointing to.

“Ok, Brucie.  It’s ok.  We’ll give them a painless death.  They don’t deserve to be kept here, too, but we can’t take them with us.”

Yeah, that’s exactly what Bruce wanted.  Of course Tony would understand.  He felt his eyes start to slip close as unconsciousness threatened again.

Steve looked down at Bruce and tightened his hold.  “Tony, we gotta go!”

“Ok, Cap, just go.  I’ll catch up in just a second.  Take Bruce out of here first, ok?”

Understanding dawned on Steve’s face and he took Bruce out into the hallway.  Bruce had never actually seen the hallway before, but it was just a nondescript white hall, though there were several unconscious guards lying on the floor.  Steve reached down and scooped up one the guard’s rifles and slung it over his shoulder before he took Bruce farther down the hall.  They ducked into a recessed doorway to wait until Tony appeared by their side again.  He flipped up the mask again.

“It’s ok,” Tony said, more to Bruce than to Steve.  “We can go now.”

Bruce faded in and out of consciousness, but he was aware of them heading up, up, up.  There was the sound of explosions and cracking concrete, and the sound of gunfire and the shouts of soldiers around them, but Steve just held him closer and pulled the shield further over him whenever the shouts got too near.  Tony flew above them when he could, blasting through closed doors rather than trying to open them, and directing them through the maze of corridors.

“Almost there,” Iron Man’s robotic voice said above them. 

But then, a deep, familiar voice cut through the fog in Bruce’s mind.

“You vigilantes are stealing property of the US Army.  Now kindly put it down and I’ll let you walk right out of here.”

Bruce knew that voice—Ross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Some off-screen violence and animal abuse.


	52. Chapter 50: Falling Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers' showdown with Ross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really any warning for this chapter, but check the end notes just in case.

 

They were almost to the quinjet.  Just out of the door to the main reactor and across a catwalk, and they would be back with the team.  So far, it had been almost easy—once inside the shielded base, JARVIS had even managed to infiltrate their system and copy a ton of data onto the suit’s hard drive.  There was no time to sort through it now, but after seeing what Ross was involved with, he was sure he would find something to exonerate Bruce.

And then they had found Bruce, starved, restrained, drugged to the gills…and those gamma dogs had been in the room with him.  That alone should prove that Ross had been behind the original attack, but that was quickly becoming the least of their problems.  Tony didn’t know _what_ they had done to Bruce, but there would be plenty of time to deal with the aftermath later.  Now, they just had to get him to the quinjet.

So when Ross appeared in front of them, blocking their exit and brandishing a fucking _gun_ , Tony had to question what sanity the general had left.

Before Steve could give an order, Tony planted his feet and gave JARVIS the order to fire the unibeam.  Ross didn’t even move as the bright white energy beam shot towards him—

\--and ricocheted off an invisible force field.  The rebounding energy blast flew past Tony and right towards Steve and Bruce, but Steve had the shield up in front of Bruce, so the bolt knocked them both backwards, but at least they were ok.

And then Ross fired the gun, and Tony didn’t even bother to dodge the bullets that dented his armor.  But there was an electronic hiss and the tiny bullets embedded in his suit lit up in arcs of blue electricity.  It didn’t hurt Tony—couldn’t, really--but the electric net fried the circuits and he fell heavily to his knees as the suit’s systems were interrupted and the HUD went dark.

The emergency systems came online and he could still hear as Cap called for backup over the comm.

“Stay right here, Bruce,” Steve’s urgent whispered reached him in the dark.  His comm was still open.  “You’re ok.  Just stay down.”  Then, louder, “Tony!  Tony, we have incoming!”

But then the HUD flickered back to life as JARVIS rebooted the system, and Tony was in control once more.  A quick glance down the corridor they had just run down revealed a pack of gamma dogs closing in on them as Ross watched from behind his protective barrier.  Steve had tucked Bruce into a corner with the shield pulled up over him like a blanket, but that left Steve with only a rifle as he stood guard over him. 

Tony wanted nothing more than to blast Ross into oblivion but it didn’t look as though he was going anywhere—probably wanted to watch the show, the sick bastard—and the dogs were a more immediate threat.

The hounds had EMP cannons mounted on their collars, but fuck them because the Mark XVII had extensive EMP shielding.  But, there were at least a dozen dogs, and numbers were an easy way to tip any scale.

Tony fired his flares to distract the hounds, and that worked as the first wave turned around yelping, some shredding their pack mates in their desperation to escape.  One brave one burst through the pack, but a repulsor blast to the solar plexus ensured that dog wouldn’t be getting up again.

Bursts of gunfire echoed off the metal walls as Steve laid down some cover fire.  A couple of the dogs went down and the others were reluctant to venture onto the metal walkway with Steve firing at their feet.

Tony turned his attention on Ross, standing smug behind his invisible barrier.  JARVIS zeroed in on the mechanism. It was hidden in Ross’s hand, so Tony was going to have to get to the other side to shut it down. 

“JARVIS, we’re going in for the blitz.”

“Sir, I don’t think--“

But it was too late because Tony fired the boots and gunned it straight towards the barrier.  If the suit could handle re-entry from another fucking _dimension_ , then it could—

The alarms in the suit flared to life as Tony crossed the barrier. The electric barrier was compormising the suit's systems, and electricity raced through his body as the suit's shielding failed.   Fire raced through every nerve and it felt so _wrong wrong wrong_. Halfway through the barrier,, the suit shut down, and he couldn’t force it either backwards or forwards as he fought both the suit and his own body for some sort of control.

“JARVIS! Fire everything!” Tony ground out.

Ross was backing up—Tony supposed he didn’t think the suit could make it even partially through the barrier—but there was nowhere to go except for further out onto the catwalk that connected the main reactor to the smaller building across the way.

“Sir! The arsenal is offline!” JARVIS’s panicked voice sounded garbled.

Darkness was closing in on the edges of Tony’s vision, and he was sure that the blood vessels in his eyes were about to burst.  But, then there was a flash of purple and black on the roof of the building across the catwalk, and Tony forced himself to focus as he watched Hawkeye draw three arrows from his quiver and aim for the spot just in front of Ross, cutting of his escape.

But he didn’t see the shot because Steve’s voice shouted “Tony!” and he managed to get his head around to see Steve with a familiar silver cylinder--the energy shield he had confiscated in the shop--held out in front of him.  The energy shield flared to life just as Steve threw it straight into Ross’s barrier.  Tony stopped fighting gravity and allowed himself to fall to the ground, curling up as much as he could just as the shield collided with the barrier.  The entire world around Tony exploded as the shield shorted out the barrier with a shower of sparks and an ear-splitting boom, just as Hawkeye’s arrows blew out the far side of the catwalk.

And then there was nothing but heat, too hot, and Tony was falling because the explosion blew out the door, and the suit was dead weight pulling him down.  He reached up, scrabbling for something to grab onto, but there was nothing, and then, suddenly, his fall stopped short as his gauntlet closed around a gloved hand.

“I’ve got you!” Steve said.

And thank science for super-strength because after a second of hanging, Steve pulled him straight up onto what was left of the metal walkway.

“Out!” Tony ordered JARVIS.  “Let me out, J!”

At least some of the backup systems were still working because the smoking suit opened up and dumped him on the floor.

Tony doubled over to cough for a second.  Steve’s hand was on his back, probably to keep him from accidentally falling over the edge.  Tony wiped the tears from his eyes so he could see where Ross went.

The catwalk was gone.  The entire walkway had fallen to the ground below where it was engulfed in flames.  Hawkeye was watching, too, one foot up on the edge of the building across from the reactor, bow ready as his sharp eyes searched for survivors. 

“Ross?” Cap asked into the comm.

“Didn’t survive that,” Hawkeye’s voice sounded small and far away coming through Cap’s comm, but it was the sweetest thing Tony had heard all day.

Hawkeye lowered his bow and waved to them.  His figure looked wavy in the heat rising from the fiery wreck below.  Cap stepped up the edge to judge the distance.  “Well,” he said.  “Let’s find a way around this mess and get the hell out of here.”

Just as Steve turned, the fire below reached something volatile and the shockwave from the explosion rocked the catwalk hard.  Steve’s foot slipped and then he was falling backwards over the edge.

“Cap!” Tony said, and he instinctively reached out with his good hand—his left—and snagged Steve’s hand.  Solid fingers closed around his wrist, but Steve was much bigger than he was, and his weight pulled Tony forward and off-balance, so he reached out with his right hand and grabbed the railing.

Steve’s weight jerked hard on Tony’s arm, and he cried out in pain as he felt something in his still-injured shoulder give.  Tony’s hand slipped and he was pulled over the edge, but he managed to grasp the last piece of the railing as he fell past.  Another hard jerk on his shoulder and he screamed.  Steve was swinging, and he flailed with his free hand, but there was nothing to grab onto.  Tony didn’t have the strength in his arm to pull both himself and Steve’s super-dense body up, and he didn’t know how long he could hold on.

Another explosion from below rocked them again and the entire walkway groaned as a wave of heat enveloped them.

“Get Rhodey!” Tony yelled from behind clenched teeth, just in case Steve’s comm was still open.  “Get him here _now_!”

The fingers around the railing were losing strength.  He was slipping.

Steve looked into his eyes.

“Tony,” he said calmly.  “Tony, just let go.”

“Fuck you!”

“Tony, you’re going to go over the edge, too!  It’s ok!”

“I’m not going to—“

“Someone has to take care of Bruce!” Steve cut him off.  “That’s _you!_   Take care of the team, Tony.”

And then Steve let go.

Tony wasn’t strong enough to hold on, and he screamed as he felt the soft leather of Steve’s gloves slip through his grip.  He was still screaming as the walkway shuddered and bare feet ran past his head, and then Bruce was flying past him, changing in the air.  And thank God for physics because Hulk’s mass was accelerating him faster than Steve, and Tony watched as he caught Steve in the air, wrapping his massive frame around Steve as tightly as he could before they were both engulfed in the flames below.

Tony pulled himself up with his good arm and lay on his stomach with his head over the edge, watching the fire below.  Time was so _fucked up_ because he had more adrenaline than blood in his veins, but it still seemed like hours before he saw Hulk rolling out of reach of the fire on the concrete below, Steve still wrapped protectively in his arms.

But that was all the Hulk had in him because, as soon as he had dragged Steve far enough from the fire, he collapsed on the ground. 

“Steve!!!” Tony yelled, but they were too far away.

But Steve was ok, already picking himself up off the ground as Hulk slowly transformed back into Bruce.  Tony’s entire body sagged as he watched Steve gather Bruce’s limp body into his arms, rocking him slowly back and forth.

****

“I can’t believe you didn’t call me,” Rhodey admonished.

“Yeah, well I did.  You just didn’t hear.”

Rhodey shook his head, but his hands were gentle as he stabilized Tony’s shoulder…well, his entire arm, actually.  He did some real damage this time.  It was at least dislocated, but he would have to wait to see if there was anything worse.

But Tony’s eyes didn’t leave the gurney on the far side of the quinjet.  Bruce was laying there, half-conscious, while Natasha checked him over.  She was the only one he would allow near enough, though Tony was pretty sure that Hulk would’ve healed any physical damage that Ross had caused.

Ross.  That motherfucker hadn’t been seen after falling to his death, but no one was willing to wait around until the fire died down enough to check for a body.  They would let SHIELD do that.  After Tony had forwarded all the footage they had to Fury, he was more than willing to step in and clean up.

Fuck that motherfucker, too.

“Tony,” Natasha called softly.  “Bruce wants you.”

Tony leaped up, trailing bandages.

“Tony!” Rhodey said.  “I’m not finished!”

“Is it going to fall off?”

“No—“

Tony pulled the loose end of the bandage free and went over to the gurney.  Bruce looked like hell, but he was still worlds better than when they found him.  His curls were gone, and there was nothing but soft downy stubble on his head, but they would grow back.  But his cheeks were sunken and Tony knew that he lost every ounce of weight that he had managed to put on while living at the Tower, and then some.  Didn’t they ever feed him?  No, Tony thought, looking at the scar where the IV had been, better not think of that.

Bruce was awake, though his features were obscured by the oxygen mask strapped to his face.  He had been wrapped in a blanket, but it had come loose and slid down to bare his shoulder, so Tony tucked it up again.  Bruce watched him with wary eyes.

Tony didn’t know what to say.  He sank down onto the metal bench beside the gurney and placed his hand on the bed beside Bruce’s hand.  He didn’t know what Bruce had been through, and he wasn’t sure if his touch was even welcome.

After a few heartbeats, Bruce’s hand wormed its way out from underneath the blanket and slipped under Tony’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence, but it's not that bad. 
> 
> So, this story was supposed to be pretty short, but I just had so much fun writing it, and Tony tends to take over, so it ended up much longer. And it's still not done! So I'm going to write a sequel, and it might turn into a trilogy. This story still had a few more chapters left, but I thought I'd start advertising now.
> 
> But I can't thank you enough for your comments and support because I wouldn't still be doing this if it wasn't for the people reading it. Thank you.


	53. Chapter 51: A Soft Place To Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is out of Ross's custody, but home doesn't feel like home any more.

It was too quiet.  Something was wrong.  It was never this quiet when he woke up.  The constant barking and whining of the dogs was quite easy to ignore, but this quiet was absolutely unnerving.

Bruce wasn’t sure if he wanted to wake up and figure out what was wrong.  Sleeping through the disturbance would be so much easier, so much less painful, than caring enough to wake up.

But his body had other ideas, and soon Bruce was aware of his own breathing, of the hammering of his head, and the distance whir of machinery.  H wanted to turn it all off and go far away where he couldn’t hurt anyone any more, and no one could hurt him.

Someone whimpered like a dying animal.  It was annoying, and he wished it would stop so he could go back to sleep.  It took him a long moment to realize that the sound was coming from him.

“It’s ok, Brucie,” a voice, warm and soothing as honey, floated down to him.  “You’re safe.”

He knew that voice!  It was—it was—“

Bruce allowed his eyes to flutter open.  His vision was hazy, but Tony’s fuzzy outline was unmistakable.  It could be another hallucination, something in the back of his brain warned, but Bruce couldn’t bring himself to care.  He’d take it, hallucination or not.

“T..t…to…”

But he couldn’t form the word.  His tongue and mouth and lungs wouldn’t cooperate together, and it took too much energy to try again.

“Shhh, it’s ok.   I’m right here.  And look!  JARVIS made sure you had these.”  Tony slid a pair of glasses onto his nose, and it was shocking how much clearer the world was.  “We’re going to take you somewhere safe, ok?” Tony continued.  “We can take you anywhere you want.  Is there somewhere you want to go?”

Bruce closed his eyes as he gathered his strength to answer.  There was only one place he wanted to go.

“H-home?”

Tony sighed and sat back.  He looked up, over Bruce’s head and nodded to someone. 

“Ok,” he said, turning his attention back to Bruce.  “We can go home.  Now just rest, ok?  It’s a long flight.”

But Bruce didn’t need any encouragement to sink back into the darkness of sleep.

****

When Bruce woke next, awareness returned quickly.  He was still on the plane—actually, it looked like a quinjet, but bigger on the inside than the standard SHIELD jets.  There was an IV in his arm, and he was still naked, but a thick grey blanket was tucked around him and Steve’s brown leather jacket was layered over that. 

Tony was next to him, sitting with his back against the wall, with his hand laying limp on the edge of the bed but not quite touching him.  The other arm was wrapped up in a sling with an ice pack tied to his shoulder.  He was dozing, and his face looked dark and shadowed. 

“Hey there,” a voice at the foot of the bed called to him.  “Tony’s fine.  He’s exhausted and we gave him something for his dislocated shoulder, but he’s just sleeping.”

It was Steve in his Captain America uniform, cowl pulled down to rest on his shoulders.  He looked tired, though not nearly as tired as Tony.  Bruce tried to turn his head to see who else was watching him, but he just didn’t have the strength to lift his head.

“Whoa,” Steve said, putting a broad hand lightly on his chest.  “Want up?”

“Yeah…” Bruce said.  He was a little amazed that the word came out right.

“Ok.” Steve went over to the other side of the gurney and lowered the rail. “I’m going to pick you up a little, ok?  Just give me the word and I’ll put you back down.”

“Ok…”

And then Steve’s arm slid under his shoulders and he was lifted just enough so he could see the entire quinjet.  He was towards the back of the jet, and he could see Natasha at the controls with Rhodes.  Clint was stretched out on his back across the seats on the other side of the plane, idly straightening the fletching on his arrows.  He turned his head just in time to see Bruce looking at him, and his face split into a big grin.

“Hey, Doc,” he said, rolling off the seats to his feet.  He came over to Steve’s side as Steve was lowering Bruce back down. 

“That was a pretty cool stunt you pulled back there, catching Cap in the air like that,” Clint said softly.  “I’m so offering my services as a human cannonball if you want to try that again sometime.”

Bruce winced.  He had forgotten about that.  He hadn’t even been sure that he _could_ transform when he threw himself off the walkway.  But, if he died trying to save Captain America…well, then maybe his death would have been worth something.  Maybe it would have been enough to redeem him from all the death and destruction he caused…maybe…

A wave of exhaustion washed over Bruce.  He was so tired of the pain, of the guilt…he wanted to fall asleep and never wake up again.  He let his eyes fall shut so he didn’t have to look at Clint and Steve anymore.

“Hey,” Clint’s voice sounded very close.  “Bruce.”

Bruce opened his eyes to see Clint crouching by the bed with his head on the same level of Bruce’s.  Steve had stepped away towards the cockpit, but Bruce knew he was still watching from the distance.

“Bruce,” Clint said again so Bruce focused on him.  “I know that the Big Guy heals you up when you transform, and Natasha said there’s nothing really wrong with you physically…well nothing good rest and a lot of food won’t fix, but do you want us to take you to a doctor?  I know some people that I trust, people who don’t work for SHIELD or anybody like that.  We can get you checked out a little better…”

Bruce’s stomach dropped.  Why was Clint asking him that?  Did they know?  Had they seen the tapes, or had someone there told them?  Hell, _Bruce_ wasn’t even sure what all those sessions in the tiny room were all about.

He licked his lips and concentrated on getting the words out right.  “Did you see…?  Were there…tapes?”

Clint’s expression was suddenly guarded and Bruce could tell that he knew _something_.

“Nah, man.  I mean, yeah, JARVIS and Tony took all the electronic files before they blew the equipment to shit, but JARVIS has them on lockdown.  He says he’s not going to let anyone but you touch them, no matter what.  Not even Tony.  But Ross is one fucked up son of a bitch, and…well…when you’re in my line of work you _see_ things, so I just thought…”

“No,” Bruce said.  “No doctors.”

Clint nodded.  “Ok, Doc.  It’s your call.”

Bruce nodded, but the movement took the last of his strength and his eyes slid shut for good this time.

****

Waking up was getting easier.  This time, he was in a soft bed, nestled in a goose-down comforter, and there was no one watching him.  That was a novelty in and of itself. 

It took him a few minutes to realize that he was back in _his_ bed, in the Tower.  The sheets were new, as was the comforter, but everything else was just as he left it.  It was a strange feeling, being back somewhere that should have been so familiar, yet it was totally alien.  Even before the gamma dog incident, he hadn’t spent much time in his own room because he had been slowly moving himself into Tony’s penthouse suite.  Funny.  He hadn’t even noticed that until this moment right now.

But this room was still as much his as anywhere he had ever lived.  The air still smelled like air conditioning and sandalwood, and the windows still looked out over the river, though JARVIS had them tinted dark to keep out the bright glare of the midday sun. 

He felt a little stronger, but it still took a monumental effort to roll over to face the door.  The bedroom door itself was left wide open, and now that he could focus on more than his immediate surroundings, he noticed the smell of someone cooking.  The aroma made his stomach cramp painfully—he was so hungry that the sensation made him nauseous. 

Bruce managed to lever himself up against the pillows.  His new glasses were on the bedside table, so he put them on. 

“Welcome home, Doctor Banner,” JARVIS’s smooth voice greeted him.

The now-familiar HUD came to life and JARVIS gave him a run-down of exactly where everyone was.

Tony was in the kitchen with Steve, Clint was asleep in his room, and Natasha was out…somewhere JARVIS didn’t know.

“Would you like me to let Mr. Stark know you are awake?” JARVIS asked.

“Yeah, please,” Bruce said, voice still rough with misuse.   He really wanted to get up and go find Tony himself, but he doubted his legs would hold him right now, and he didn’t want Steve or Tony coming in to find him in a puddle on the floor.

Only a few minutes passed before Tony came in through the open door, followed by Steve carrying a tray.  Steve set the tray down on the bedside table, and stepped back to hover near the doorway.  Tony pulled a chair up to the bed, but Bruce noticed how hesitant he was to get too close.

“Hey, Brucie,” Tony said.  “Think you could eat something?”

Yeah.  Bruce thought he could eat an entire fucking Vegas buffet.  But, the doctor inside him said that he should be careful or else he was going to make himself sick, and throwing up was definitely not on his to-do list for the day.

Tony’s arm was still wrapped up in a sling, so Steve moved the tray over Bruce’s lap.  There was vegetable soup and a small piece of soft bread.  It smelled divine, but he felt a little self-conscious eating in front of the other two.  But Steve disappeared and came back with another two bowls of the soup; he handed one to Tony, who balanced it on his lap, and kept the other for himself.

The soup was hot, but not too hot, and it was mellow and easy to swallow down without any effort.  Bruce was careful to eat slowly, setting the spoon down in between mouthfuls to judge how his stomach was handling the sudden food.  He didn’t even manage to eat half of it before he knew he should stop, but he still soaked he bread in the broth and ate that, too. 

He slumped back against the pillows as Steve took the tray away.  He looked at Tony with a pointed glare.

“Don’t wear him out,” Steve warned.  “And don’t wear yourself out, either.”

Tony waved him off. “Hey, I’m about ready to crash.  Just give us a few minutes and I’ll meet you upstairs.”

Steve looked between him and Bruce.  “Call me if you need anything, Bruce,” he said.

“Ok,” Bruce said.  It wasn’t much of an answer, but it appeased Steve enough.

And then Bruce was alone with Tony and he had absolutely nothing to say.  Tony, apparently, didn’t have anything to say, either.  Well, Bruce thought, maybe that meant that there was nothing _to_ say.

But then Tony reached out, slowly, deliberately like he was approaching a wild animal.  Bruce willed himself still—it wasn’t that hard because this was _Tony_ after all—as he put his hand on the short stubble on Bruce’s head. When Bruce didn’t pull away, he started stroking in slow, soothing movements. 

It felt strange.  Bruce hadn’t had his hair this short in a long time, and it was tingly and ticklish but it felt so very good at the same time.  But he didn’t move either towards or away from Tony.  He didn’t trust himself to move because if he did, he might run away and never stop until he fell over the edge of the earth.

“Am I hurting you?” Tony asked.

Bright tears burned Bruce’s eyes.  He was so angry that Tony would even ask such a thing, and mad at himself for his anger.  He wanted to flip the bed over, throw the furniture out the window, do anything to relieve the terrible pressure he felt building up inside him.

Tony must not have sensed something because he got _closer_ , the idiot.  He sat on the edge of the bed and stroked down his cheek, flicking away the tears at the corner of his eyes.  Bruce swiped at his hand, pushing his arm away, and Tony let him do it.  But, seconds later, he was back again, rubbing his thumb along his cheekbone.

“It’s ok, Bruce,” Tony said.  “Whatever you’re feeling right now, it’s ok.  You’re allowed to feel totally fucked up, but it’s not going to last forever.”

And those words broke something inside of Bruce and he was deluged with bitter, angry tears.  And Tony, stupid Tony, leaned in to kiss him gently on the cheek.

And then Bruce was crying in earnest because he didn’t feel anything other than numb. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I think there are another two or three more chapters, then on to the sequel!!


	54. Chapter 52: A Little Piece of My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce looks for closure after what he suffered in Ross's hands. Tony tries to help.

Tony knew all too clearly how it felt to have your world torn to shreds. 

The first time, it hadn’t felt like anything at all. _He_ hadn’t been able to feel anything at all.  When Pepper told him that the stocks had plummeted because of his first press conference after returning from that desert, it never really sank in.  He didn’t care about the money anymore.  He didn’t care about the cars, or the parties, or even the beautiful women who still threw themselves at him.

He still drank, though, even more than he had before.  Then, he could pretend that the ever-present numbness was from the booze.

And when he started building the Mark II, all he could feel was rage.  He hated the terrorists who had pushed him under the water time and time again; he hated Yinsen for plugging that goddam battery into his chest, then up and _dying_ on him; he hated his father for leaving him a company and a legacy that turned him into a monster; he hated himself for what he had allowed himself to become.

But, then, he had learned how to fly.

Then, it was just him and JARVIS, racing so fast that nothing could catch them, so high that no one could reach them…no one.

He never really came down after that first flight.  Even when his feet were on the ground, his heart and his mind were in the air, up safe in the clouds.  But he flew too high one day, too far across stars and space and time, and he didn’t think he’d ever get back.

He had never realized that there was something worth coming back _for._

****

Tony watched Bruce out of the corner of his eye as the physicist pushed food around in his bowl without eating anything.  Two weeks out of Ross’s custody, and Bruce still couldn’t eat a full meal without throwing half of it back up.  Bruce shrugged off Tony’s concerns.  Atrophy of the digestive tract, he said.  It was normal.  Expected.  Everything was just fine.

Tony didn’t believe a word of it.

At least Bruce was safe.  At least he was here, in the Tower, where Tony and the rest of the team could look after him.  But there wasn’t much Tony could really do for him.  Money, power, technology, influence…all of those things meant absolutely nothing.  Fuck, he couldn’t even pour the poor man a drink.  In the end, the best things Tony could give him were space and time and a quiet presence to stave off the loneliness.

But he could do that.  The charges against Bruce were dropped as soon as SHIELD went into those hellish labs and saw what Ross was really doing.  They could prove that the gamma dogs were Ross’s creations, unleashed to lure the Avengers into a trap.  The deaths of the soldiers, while unfortunate, were in self-defense. 

Tony had been so excited to tell Bruce that he had been exonerated, that he didn’t have to run after all.  But Bruce had taken the news as he had taken everything else since his rescue—with a small, tight smile that soon disappeared. 

“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to,” Tony said after another few minutes of watching Bruce stir his spoon in the cold oatmeal.

Bruce startled as if he had forgotten Tony was there.  But he did push the bowl away and lean back in his chair, though his eyes remained focused on the middle distance in front of him.

Tony took their bowls to the sink and rinsed them out, taking his time so he could form some sort of plan before facing Bruce again.  He wanted to get Bruce out of the Tower while the weather was still good.  He was sure that being outdoor s in the fresh air would be so much better for him than being cooped up in the same few rooms for days on end.

Maybe he should take them somewhere else, Tony mused as he walked back to the living room.  He could take the entire team on a vacation, like Lake Tahoe or maybe somewhere even farther.  But one look at Bruce and the thought fled his mind.  The scientist was still so pale and thin, and he had been on his feet for only a few days.  Bruce had managed to get himself from the table to the couch, but he was sweating and shaking from the effort.

Tony snagged an afghan off the back of the couch. 

“Here,” he said to Bruce, “lay down for a little while.”  Bruce obeyed—he did a lot better with directions than with requests lately—and Tony draped the blanket over him.

Tony sat on the edge of the couch, and Bruce let himself be maneuvered so that he was lying on a pillow propped up against Tony. They were close, not touching, but Tony could feel the small shudders that ran through Bruce as he slowly sank into a doze.

Bruce twitched in his sleep. It scared Steve a little, but Tony wasn’t frightened, so he was usually the one who stayed with Bruce when he slept.  Sometimes Clint would keep watch from across the room, but that was just…weird.  But it was ok.  Tony would stay for as long as Bruce needed him.  A very small part of him hoped that it would be for a while.

But, right now, Bruce was warm and heavy on this thigh, and his twitches weren’t bad enough to wake him.  It was better to let him ride out the nightmare if he could; waking him in the middle would just make sure he remembered it.  So Tony leaned down and pressed a warm, chaste kiss to Bruce’s temple.  “It’s ok, Snowflake.  I’m right here,” he whispered.

Bruce settled down, as he usually did.

And, as usual, a spark of hope kindled in Tony’s heart.

****

Tony woke on the couch.  The TV was tuned to some infomercial—oh yeah, they had been watching Dog Cops, and Bruce had fallen asleep with his head in Tony’s lap.  Apparently, Tony had fallen asleep soon after.

Their show was over, and there was some sitcom on that Tony didn’t recognize.  But Bruce—Bruce was gone and the afghan was abandoned on the couch.

Well, Tony mused, he couldn’t have gotten far.  Heck, the poor guy could barely move a few feet without collapsing from exhaustion.

“JARVIS, where’s Bruce?” Tony asked.

“Doctor Banner is downstairs in the workshop,” JARVIS replied.

Huh.  Well, that was more than a few feet away.  Good job, Brucie.  Still, Tony supposed he should go looking for him.

“Did Bruce request any sort of privacy?” Tony asked.

“No, Sir, he did not.  He is reading the mission report at the moment.”

Oh, shit.  Better get downstairs.

So Tony took the elevator downstairs and found Bruce seated at his usual workstation.  He was wearing his pajamas still, but at least he was wearing the wool-line slippers Tony had bought for him.  Well, it wasn’t like Bruce could catch cold, but at least he wouldn’t _feel_ cold.

He was scrolling through a text file, eyes flicking back and forth as he took in entire paragraphs at a time.  Tony thought _he_ could speed read, but the way Bruce processed information was almost superhuman.  Maybe that was his true super power.

“Hi Tony,” Bruce said without taking his eyes off the screen. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“It’s ok.  What are you reading?”

“SHIELD sent over the mission report.  There are some forms that you need to fill out, too, but I think I finished them for you.  Well, most of it.  The parts I remember.”

Tony sat down on the edge of the desk, scooting the keyboard away from Bruce’s hand with his hip.  Bruce looked up at him.  Tony expected annoyance, but there was…nothing.

“Thanks, Brucie.  Anything important in there?”

Bruce sighed and pushed the desk chair away so there was a space between them.  “They found a body.  Well, a bunch of bodies.  But one of them was Ross.”

Tony’s heart leaped a little at that.  He knew Ross had died in the explosion—how could anyone survive that—but he refused to let himself believe it until it was confirmed.

“Good,” Tony said.

Bruce nodded a little.  “Yeah, I guess so.”

“He deserved it, Bruce.  He hurt so many people, including you.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Bruce said quietly.  “Compared to what I’ve been through…I mean, he didn’t hurt me as badly as he did before.”

Tony sucked in a breath.  This was the most Bruce had said about his experience since they returned.  JARVIS wouldn’t let him look at any of the electronic files they had managed to save, so it left Tony’s imagination to run wild, and Tony had an excellent imagination.  Still, he didn’t want to pressure Bruce into sharing what he wasn’t ready to share.  He wasn’t a fucking psychologist, after all, and he didn’t know what would help and what would hurt.

Tony made a mental note to start reading up on some psychology.

In the meanwhile, he just stayed quiet.

“But…I don’t know why…I just…I don’t feel the same anymore,” Bruce continued.  “It’s like I can’t feel anything.  Even hearing that he died…I was sad, for just a second, for Betty.  But for me?  Nothing.”

God, staying quiet was so _fucking_ hard.

Bruce lifted his eyes to look at Tony, but he looked away quickly.  “He was trying to clone me…well, not really clone, but he was trying to create embryos for stem cell research.  I didn’t even think that was possible.  I thought the radiation made me sterile.  But he managed, somehow, to find something that stabilized the genetic material.  But it took thousands of trials to create one viable embryo, so he…he…”

And Bruce fell silent again.  He didn’t even move.  His eyes were locked on the floor, and his hands were sandwiched between his knees.  He looked so lost, so confused…

“That was all in the mission report?” Tony asked after it was apparent that Bruce was done talking.

Bruce shook his head.  “No.  I figured some of it out while I was there, but JARVIS showed me the files you took…Thanks for that, by the way.  It’s easier knowing what the purpose of all that was…”

Tony winced.  Yeah, when he was in that fucking cave it was easier knowing what they wanted from him.  But, he used that information to screw them over in the end.  And Bruce didn’t really have that option.  In that second, he wished Ross was still alive so he could let Bruce or Hulk or whatever side of Bruce wanted revenge finish the bastard off himself.  It was just so much more…fulfilling…that way.

As it was, Bruce needed some sort of closure, and he wasn’t likely to get it.

“Tony,” Bruce said again.  His voice was uneasy, unsure, so Tony stepped closer in reassurance. “I think I’m ready for that microchip now.”

Now Tony couldn’t respond even if he wanted to.  He was speechless.  How many times had he teased Bruce about being microchipped, as if he was a dog that he was afraid would run away or something?  But Bruce looked at him, and the naked trust in his eyes banished any smartass quip that Tony could think of.

“Are you sure?” Tony asked.  It was a stupid question.  Bruce would never suggest such a thing if he wasn’t sure.

“Yeah,” Bruce answered.  “I knew you would never stop looking for me…but, well, I think that maybe I should make it easier to _find_ me.  For next time.”

There won’t be a next time, Tony thought, but the words died on his lips.  Sure, they had gotten rid of one of his enemies, but there were so many more fucked up people in the world who would _love_ to get their hands on the Hulk—just as many as would love to get their hands on the Iron Man tech, he supposed. 

“Ok,” Tony said instead.  “I need a syringe.”

Bruce blinked, but he got up and went to the back of the shop where Tony kept the medical supplies.

Tony went over to a locked cabinet on the wall and pressed his thumb against the ID pad.  It opened with a click.

“Sir,” JARVIS asked softly, “do you think Doctor Banner is in the right frame of mind to make such a decision right now?”

“No, I don’t, which is the only reason he’s saying yes.”

“But, Sir—“

“Shut it, J.”

And JARVIS fell silent.  Tony took a clear, unlabeled vial from the shelf and closed the cabinet.

Bruce stood in front of him, syringe in hand.

“What’s that?” Bruce asked, indicating the vial.

“Your microchip.  It’s a nanofilament suspended in saline.  A standard microchip would be too easy to discover under your skin.  This one can be injected into your bloodstream and it’s completely undetectable with standard medical equipment.”

Bruce took the vial and held it up to the light.  A little of his old curiosity peeked through his dull exterior as he examined the clear liquid.  “So, how do I get it out?  If I want it out. Like if someone hacks it or something?”

Tony smiled.  “It can’t be hacked.  It’s not something that sends a signal.  You have to know to _look_ for it.”

Bruce handed the vial back but looked hard at Tony, lips quirking up in suspicious smile.  “What is it, Tony?”

“Vibranium.  The rarest element on Earth.”

Bruce sucked in a breath.  “It’s a piece of the arc reactor’s core,” he said.  “A piece of your heart.”

“Well, a _nano_ piece, but yeah.”

But then Bruce started shaking so violently that Tony was scared that he was going into shock.

“Hey, Brucie, sit down,” Tony said, directing him into the desk chair.  “It’s ok.  You can change your mind.”

“No!” Bruce said vehemently.  “I mean, you’ve had this for…for how long?”

“A while,” Tony said.  He honestly couldn’t remember exactly when he had created it.

“And…and you were just waiting for me to say yes.”

“It’s not a fucking engagement ring, Brucie,” Tony said.

But the look that Bruce gave him let him know that no, it was worth far more than that. 

“I told you I love you,” Tony said, and he was surprised by the rawness of his own voice.  “I meant that.  But I‘m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Bruce didn’t answer.  He stuck out his arm and looked up at Tony with wide, trusting eyes.  Tony loaded the syringe.  “Are you sure?” he asked one last time.

“Yes, Tony, I’m sure.”

The syringe slid effortless under his skin into the vein, and Bruce didn’t even flinch.  Tony depressed the syringe slowly until the liquid was gone, then pulled the needle out.

Bruce folded his arm back, rubbing lightly over the injection site, but there wasn’t even a mark to show for it.  They were silent for a long moment, Bruce rubbing at his arm, Tony holding the empty syringe.  Tony kind of wanted to lean in a kiss Bruce, but at the same time, he knew that wasn’t what Bruce needed right now.  So he tossed the used needle into the trash.

“Can we go back upstairs and watch Dog Cops?” Bruce asked.  “I fell asleep during the last episode.”

Tony smiled and Bruce managed to return the smile.  It was forced, and it wavered for a second before failing completely, but it was there.

“Yeah,” Tony said.  He slung his left arm—his right still hurt like a bitch—over Bruce’s shoulders and helped him to his feet.  “Yeah, I think JARVIS has them all on DVR.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, one more chapter and this story is finished. But, there is much more in store for Tony and Bruce in the very near future.


	55. Chapter 53: The Long Road Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce takes the first step towards finding his way back home.

The Tower was still and quiet, the lights dim to let the city skyline shine through the floor-to-ceiling windows.  It was late, or early depending on how he looked at it, but Bruce couldn’t sleep.  He had slipped out of bed without Tony noticing, which took every stealth skill he had been taught.  Though Tony wouldn’t sleep in the same bed as him—by Bruce’s request—he insisted on staying in the same room.  Which was pretty stupid, Bruce thought.  If he _did_ have a nightmare strong enough to warrant major intervention, he was pretty sure the Other Guy would beat Tony to it any way.  And, a confused, scared Hulk was the last thing anyone wanted to wake up to.

But, Bruce managed to keep the nightmares under control.  It wasn’t that hard.  He had plenty of practice after all.

Still, nights were difficult for him.  He was restless, and he couldn’t get comfortable in bed for long enough to stay asleep.  Everything felt strange and unfamiliar. So the only solution he had was to sneak out of bed and wander the Tower like some lonely ghost.

A ghost.  That’s what he felt like.  A shade, a shadow, a pale glimmer of his former spirit. 

More than anything, he wanted to run.  He wanted to be surrounded by a new language, a different climate, colors and textures that he had never seen before.  Then, it wouldn’t be so strange to be left out, to feel like he didn’t belong, like he was different, because that would be _normal_.

Tony didn’t understand the allure of being forced to scrape by, to be so busy worrying about his next meal that his mind didn’t have time to linger on what had happened in the past.  Life on the run meant always looking forward, not backwards.

He ached for a new horizon.  It wasn’t as if this was the first time he had been held captive—hell, it wasn’t even the first time he had been tortured—but this time he couldn’t fall back on his old patterns and coping mechanisms.  If he ran, Tony would come after him.  Fuck, he had even let Tony inject him with the tracking device.  He had thought that it would make him feel more secure, protected…maybe even loved.

But, no, he couldn’t feel those things anymore.  Now, there was only the uneasy restlessness, the strange sense that something was _wrong_ all the time.  The truth, he knew, was that the only thing wrong about this place was _him._

Bruce wasn’t quite sure when he got into the elevator, but he ended up in the Tower lobby.  The night guard didn’t even look at him twice as he pushed the door open and stepped out into the night.

A cold wind bit through Bruce’s thin clothes, but it felt good because he could _feel_ it.  It was autumn and the moon hung heavy and bright in the sky.  He was buried too far beneath the neon of Manhattan to see the stars, but he knew they were there.  In fact, he could probably point out the constellations without even seeing them.  He remembered them from the times when he had been lost in the wilderness and had to navigate by the stars.

Taxis streaked by, leaving bright trails of red and white burned in Bruce’s vision when he blinked.  That was good, too.  The wind blew stronger, and Bruce turned himself to face it head-on, drinking in huge lungfulls of car exhaust and icy air.

He didn’t wander far from the base of the Tower.  Last time he disappeared, it had set off an entire search party, and he didn’t want to cause such a fuss again.  It wasn’t worth it.  So he sat on the sidewalk against the building with his knees pulled up to his chest so that he wasn’t in the way of the occasional stray pedestrians passing by.

Somewhere, someone was cooking meat, and the scent was carried on the wind.  It made Bruce’s stomach turn, but he could bury his nose against his knees and block it out enough.  Once he sat down, he didn’t want to get up.  It just didn’t seem to be worth the energy to do anything other than sit and stare at the sidewalk.

The side of the building was like a block of ice, but it was solid and comforting, so Bruce leaned harder against it.  Thanks to the Other Guy, he couldn’t catch cold, so it didn’t matter if he shivered as he pressed his spine hard against the chill metal and glass.  It was comforting, knowing that it was Tony’s building behind him, as if it was Tony himself standing over him and protecting him.

Bruce didn’t know how long he sat there—he had left his glasses and his watch inside—but he could feel the cold seep into his muscles and bone.  He could _feel_ it.  And it was ok.  It was fine.  There was no way he would freeze out here, and if he did, well, it wouldn’t kill him after all.

“Bruce!” Tony’s voice woke him from his half-doze.

There was a hand on his arm, but he violently shrugged it off and buried his head in his arms.

“Bruce…” Tony said, quieter, closer.

“Don’t worry.  ’M not going anywhere,” Bruce mumbled.  It was a little hard to talk.  His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth.

“It’s like 30 degrees out here,” Tony said.  “You’re going to freeze to death.”

Bruce laughed.  “No…’m not.  ‘S not that easy.”

Tony crouched beside him and Bruce looked at him for the first time.  He was wearing the work boots that he usually wore in the shop and a leather jacket over his pajamas, but his cheeks and fingers were already red with the cold.

“You’re goin’ to get sick,” Bruce said.  Tony, of all of them, had the weakest immune system and a minor chest cold could quickly turn into a devastating infection.

“Then you better go inside so I can go inside, too, huh?”

Bruce sighed, but he relented and pushed himself up.  His joints were stiff and sore, but Tony grabbed his elbow and helped keep him steady until he could straighten up all the way, then he slipped under Bruce’s arm to take some of his weight.

Bruce wanted to push him away, but he was too tired for it to really matter anymore.

Tony was thankfully silent as he guided him past the indifferent guard and into the elevator.  Now that he was inside and the outer layer of his skin began to thaw a bit, Bruce began to shiver violently.  Tony held him closer.

“JARVIS, the penthouse,” Tony said.  He took off his coat and wrapped it around Bruce’s shoulders.  It was warm from Tony’s body heat, but the warmth dissipated quickly.

Tony took him through the penthouse.  Bruce looked around with wide eyes.  He hadn’t been back to Tony’s penthouse since he had been rescued.  In fact, Bruce realized, the last time he had been here was when Tony had him dress in that silly suit and sit on the floor to eat risotto.  

Bruce paused as they passed the sunken living room, looking at the familiar skyline.  It didn’t look so cold from here.

“Come on, Brucie,” Tony urged.  “Let’s get warmed up.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll melt?” Bruce asked quietly.

“No, Brucie,” Tony said without missing a beat.  “You’ll always be my Snowflake, but you don’t have to have the core temperature to match.”

JARVIS already had the bath running, and the bathroom was thick with steam.  Tony threw his leather coat out into the bedroom and turned to Bruce in his thin nightshirt and jeans.  He paused, and Bruce knew that he wasn’t sure if he should help undress him or not. 

“Do you…uh…want some help?”

Bruce shook his head, but his fingers were too cold and he was shivering too hard to work the buttons through the holes.  Tony stepped closer and pushed his hands away. He undid the buttons and slid the material from his shoulders.  Bruce shivered even harder, but not from cold this time.

Tony didn’t talk.  He just put his hand against Bruce’s back and pushed him towards the full bathtub.  Bruce pulled off his pants and slid into the water.  He was so cold that the warmth felt too hot on his oversensitive skin, and he hissed as he lowered himself down.  But Tony’s hand was on his arm, keeping him from sinking down too fast.

Once he was settled in the warm water, Tony took a step back.  “Ok?” Tony asked.

Bruce nodded.  He was as ok as he was going to get for now.

“Can I stay?  Or do you want me to leave?”

Bruce stared at the water.  He didn’t really care either way.  “Stay if you want.”  At least talking was easier as his teeth stopped chattering and his tongue loosened. 

Judging by Tony’s expression, that was the right answer. 

Tony sat on the steps to the tub and leaned against the wall.  His shoulder was mostly healed, but Bruce could tell by the way he moved that it had stiffened in the cold.  A brief pang of guilt shot through Bruce’s gut at the thought that he was the reason Tony had been outside when he should have been warm and resting in bed.

“I wasn’t going to leave,” Bruce said.

Tony looked at him for a long moment without answering.  “I know,” he said at last.  “Even you aren’t rash enough to leave in your pajamas.”  But he followed it with a crooked grin that wasn’t completely sure.

“I would say good-bye, at least,” Bruce continued.

Tony nodded.  “Is that what you’re doing now?”

“No.”

“Good.”  Tony sighed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.  “You know I understand, right?” he said.  “I mean, it’s not the same, but when I got back from that fucking cave, I didn’t think anything would ever be ok again.  Everyone thought I was crazy—“

“You _are_ crazy,” Bruce mumbled.

“Thank you, Doctor Banner, but I’m trying to make a point—anyway, even Rhodey treated me differently, and well, I though _he_ at least would understand.  I mean, he’s been to war.  He knows…but, well, fuck it, because even if he did know, what did that matter?  It didn’t change how I felt about anything—about myself.”

“What _is_ your point, Tony?”  The warm water was starting to make Bruce feel tired.  Not sleepy, just…tired.

Tony leaned back against the wall again.  “My point is that I’ve been there, and Steve’s been there, and Natasha, and Clint, and we’ve all come out the other side.  And you will, too, just like you have before.”

“It’s different this time,” Bruce said, though he couldn’t explain _how_ it was different.

“Damn straight it’s different.  Now you have us. You have _me._ ”

Bruce shook his head a little, but Tony caught his face and held it still, forcing him to meet his gaze.  “I’m not going to give up on you.  Ever.  You’re not my best friend; you’re more than that.  You’re my soul mate.  I love you, Bruce.”

“I love you, too, Tony,” Bruce said softly.

And then Tony kissed him, crushing his mouth against him before backing up and exploring with soft lips against his.  His breath tickled Bruce’s nose, and his goatee scraped and burned against Bruce’s stubble because neither one of them had shaved that day.  But it felt warm and velvety, and when Bruce inhaled, the taste of hot metal and coconut lingered on his tongue. 

It felt good and _right_ and nothing had felt like that in such a long time.

Tony broke apart first, not even trying to deepen the kiss, but that was ok because Bruce wasn’t sure if he could handle any more than that anyway.  He was shivering again, teeth chattering from something other than cold this time.

“Let’s get you into bed,” Tony said.  “It’s still early.”

Bruce let himself be guided out of the tube and wrapped in Tony’s dressing gown.  He put on the flannel pajama bottoms Tony threw to him and followed him out of the bathroom.  But, instead of leading him to the elevator, Tony turned back the satin covers on his bed.

“Here, if you can’t sleep in your bed, maybe you can sleep in mine.”

As he slipped between the smooth, silky sheets, Bruce felt better than he had in days.  Tony took the dressing gown and tossed it over the foot of the bed before laying down beside him.

“You don’t have to sleep if you don’t want to,” Tony said.  “Just lay here and keep me company.”

But Bruce was warmer than he had been in a long time, and when he licked his lips he could still taste coconut.  Tony curled around him and JARVIS turned the lights down low so the only glow was the blue-white light of the arc reactor.  Tony fished under the covers and caught his wrist, pulling his hand up and over to cover the reactor’s light; he sighed, content.

This wasn’t permanent, Bruce reminded himself.  The fuzzy warmth that spread from the middle of his chest up and down his limbs was only temporary.  This peace might last, or it might be as fleeting as the summer had been.  Maybe he and Tony would be able to regain what they had lost, but in this fucked up world of super heroes and magic and science and mortal enemies, chances were they would never be as they were before.  But, Bruce thought, maybe that was okay.  Maybe they would grow from this, become stronger, better, more sure of themselves.  Maybe.

Surprisingly, Bruce felt his eyes grow heavy and his muscles slowly relax as his breathing automatically matched Tony’s.  He was falling asleep.

“Good night, Brucie,” Tony whispered.

“Good night, Tony,” Bruce replied. “Good night, JARVIS.”

And, for the first time in maybe his entire life, Bruce felt like he was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is has been quite a ride! I can't thank you enough for your support, help, and comments on this amazing journey. I can't believe that this story (or part of the story) is at an end.
> 
> But, look out for the second part, which is going to focus on Bruce and Tony's recovery. So, really, the end is just another beginning after all!


	56. Continued in Part 2: Fix You

As requested, here is a link to part 2 of the story, [Fix You](../../1058037).

 

My goal is update Part 2 weekly, which is not as quickly as I was able to do Part 1, but hopefully it will be worth the wait.

As always, thank you so much for reading the story and supporting me in all the ways you do. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always cherished!


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